


Cloverfoot's Loyalty

by DuplexBeGreat



Series: Slatefur Trilogy [3]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Book Series: A Vision of Shadows, Gen, The Raging Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuplexBeGreat/pseuds/DuplexBeGreat
Summary: Cloverfoot, Slatefur, and their companions have returned to the lake, and ShadowClan has grown strong under Tigerstar's leadership. But Cloverfoot finds herself increasingly uncertain of her role in the renewed Clan, and Slatefur struggles with an altogether different challenge—mentorship. As tensions rise between ShadowClan and SkyClan, both cats will determine, once and for all, what loyalty to their Clan means to them. The final chapter in the Slatefur trilogy, set during The Raging Storm, featuring ShadowClan cats both background and mainstream.





	Cloverfoot's Loyalty

**Chapter 1**

_Cloverfoot took a deep breath, relishing her senses of the pine forest around her. She could hear scuffling noises in the brush that told her exactly where the mouse was hiding—or would have, if she hadn’t already been able to smell it. This was a midday hunting patrol, and the gray tabby she-cat knew she should catch the mouse as quickly as possible, but she couldn’t resist taking in her surroundings. This was_ ShadowClan _land, and every day she could hunt and fight for her Clan was a blessing._

_A cool breeze whistled through the pines, ruffling her fur. A few trees over, a sparrow warbled contentedly. The mouse’s head poked cautiously out of the ferns as the tiny creature began to emerge from its hiding place._

_Everything about this was right. Everything was_ perfect _._

_From behind the bracken that was keeping her hidden from the mouse’s view, Cloverfoot crouched down on her haunches and prepared to pounce._

“Cloverfoot,” a familiar voice mewed, breaking firmly into her sleep.

As the pine forest she’d been dreaming of faded, Cloverfoot felt her leg muscles relax, disappointment sweeping over her body where she lay curled up in her nest. She begrudgingly opened her eyes, prepared for the unnatural sight of piles upon piles of Twoleg clutter. She’d lost track of how many moons it had been since she and Rippletail had found their littermate Berryheart, sheltering with her mate Sparrowtail in a large, abandoned Twoleg den.

Bright spots of dappled sunlight greeted her eyes, making her wince and blink. With a start of joy, Cloverfoot realized she wasn’t in any sort of Twoleg den at all. Instead, a low roof of brambles hung over her head, letting in light through gaps where more brambles would have to be woven in later. Her nest, lined with moss, was resting on firmly-packed earth, not an uncomfortably hard Twoleg surface. And all around her was the scent of other cats, strong and comforting. Some of these cats Cloverfoot knew well and could recognize from the faintest scent, while others she had been away from for longer than she would have thought possible. But they all had one thing in common: They were warriors.

For the first time in moons, she was back in ShadowClan’s camp. Her dream hadn’t been a lie. She was home.

In a flash, the events of the previous two days came flooding back to her. The return to the lake with Tigerheart’s body, the meeting with Puddleshine on ShadowClan’s territory, the reunion with all of ShadowClan at the Moonpool… and the horrifying revelation that both the territory and the Clan were no more. They were part of SkyClan now.

 _But that didn’t last for long_ , Cloverfoot thought triumphantly. Tigerheart—now Tigerstar—had been given nine lives by StarClan and returned to lead his re-strengthened Clan. And then, as one, the cats of ShadowClan, both old and new, had traveled back to their old camp, doing what they could to repair the dens and renew the Clan’s scent markers before they gave in to exhaustion and slept. It had been a very, very long day.

The cat standing over her—the one who had spoken—nudged her flank gently, and Cloverfoot felt another surge of warmth as she recognized the dark gray pelt of her father, Scorchfur. Though her tabby coat was a lighter shade, she knew she got her fur color from him.

“Get up,” Scorchfur said, a slight yawn in his voice. “We’re needed.”

Cloverfoot stirred out of her nest, shaking out her pelt as the last vestiges of stiffness from sleep left her. “Dawn patrol?”

“No,” came the reply, as Scorchfur slipped out of the warriors’ den. “Tigerstar wants to speak to us privately.”

Slightly confused, Cloverfoot followed her father out into the camp, gazing around happily at the hazel trees and bramble thickets that she’d missed for so long. Every den still looked a bit shabby, and the fresh-kill pile was smaller than might be expected… but all of that would soon change. In a moon, no cat would be able to tell that their Clan had ever come so close to disappearing.

Cloverfoot glanced over at the nursery as they crossed the clearing to Tigerstar’s den. Hidden inside the brambles, she knew, four queens were nursing their litters. Two of them were her sisters, Berryheart and Yarrowleaf, and one was their mother, Snowbird. Once all their kits grew older, ShadowClan would have more than enough warriors to defend its borders, just in case ThunderClan or RiverClan decided to take advantage of their recent instability. They would have to keep an eye on the border they shared with SkyClan, as well. The newly-arrived Clan had been their ally in past moons—or so Cloverfoot had heard—but that alliance had been formed under Rowanstar’s leadership. With Tigerstar in charge now, SkyClan might try to test his strength.

 _They’re entitled to all the land Rowanstar gave them_ , Cloverfoot thought, _and no more._

Ahead, Scorchfur stopped at the entrance to the thicket that formed the leader’s den. He glanced back at her and nodded before ducking inside. Cloverfoot braced herself as she followed him under the brambles, wondering just what Tigerstar needed to discuss with them before the rest of the Clan was even awake.

Her eyes widened as she stepped into the den, realizing quickly that quite a bit of the Clan was gathered right inside. Tigerstar sat at the center, his tail wrapped around his paws, with the Clan deputy beside him—his mother, Tawnypelt. Off to the side, partially hidden by the shadows, was the distinctive brown-and-white pelt of the young medicine cat, Puddleshine.

It wasn’t that surprising, Cloverfoot realized, that the deputy and medicine cat were present for whatever important thing Tigerstar had to say. But she was equally as puzzled as she was delighted to see the other two cats in the den: Snowbird and Berryheart.

Scorchfur immediately crossed the den to where his mate lay, nuzzling her pure white fur lovingly. Snowbird purred, lifting her tail and draping it across Scorchfur’s back. Cloverfoot watched, her heart swelling with affection for her parents. Meeting Berryheart’s gaze, she moved to be beside her littermate. They brushed pelts as Cloverfoot opened her muzzle in a low mew. “Do you know what’s going on? Why has Tigerstar summoned nearly our whole family?”

Berryheart shook her head. “I’m sure we’ll find out. Tawnypelt came to the nursery to fetch me and Snowbird, but she said Yarrowleaf could stay behind.”

Cloverfoot nodded. “I noticed she wasn’t here.” Her pelt pricked with suspicion. Why hadn’t Yarrowleaf been invited? Cloverfoot knew that the ginger she-cat had made the mistake of being blinded by love—when the Clans had defeated Darktail, Yarrowleaf had fled with what was left of his rogues, following a tom she’d fallen for. It was only after returning to the Clans that she’d given birth to his kits. The rogues, Yarrowleaf’s former mate among them, had attempted to steal the kits, and the battle to save them had cost Rowanclaw his life.

 _Did Tigerstar leave Yarrowleaf out of this meeting because he doesn’t trust her?_ Cloverfoot wondered. Then a chill ran down her back, making her fur stand on end, as an even worse thought occurred to her. _Is this meeting_ about _Yarrowleaf?_

From the other side of the den, Snowbird spoke up. “Tigerstar? Would you mind letting us know what this is about? We’ve left our kits with Dovewing and Yarrowleaf, but I’d like to get back to them as quickly as possible. Two queens won’t have an easy time managing four litters.” At the sound of her mother’s reassuring voice, Cloverfoot felt the fear lift from her pelt. Whatever Tigerstar wanted to discuss, they would ensure he didn’t do anything rash.

Tigerstar raised his muzzle, his large amber eyes gazing across the cats he’d summoned to his den. “You’re all here because you deserve to hear this before anyone else in the Clan. This is a delicate matter, and I would hear your thoughts before I make any decision myself.” His voice was low and careful, but carried the confidence that Cloverfoot had once heard from his father, Rowanstar. “Puddleshine will explain,” he said, flicking his tail at the medicine cat.

“Last night was the half-moon,” Puddleshine mewed, stepping forward to stand beside his leader. “When I met with the other medicine cats, I informed them of Tigerstar’s return to lead us, and that he had received his nine lives. However, I wasn’t the only one with news to share. ThunderClan’s medicine cat Alderheart had visited the Twolegplace, and—”

Scorchfur snorted. “Typical ThunderClan. Always looking for more kittypets to take in.”

Snowbird gave her mate a gentle nudge. Confused, Scorchfur glanced around the den, suddenly noticing Tigerstar’s gaze burning into his pelt. The dark gray tom gave his chest fur a quick lick, averting his eyes from his leader’s stare.

Cloverfoot watched her father with wry amusement. _I’ve no love for kittypets_ , she thought. _But Tigerstar isn’t going to take kindly to snide remarks, not after he’s just brought three Twolegplace cats into our Clan!_ The sooner Scorchfur learned that, the more embarrassment he’d save himself.

His whiskers twitching, Puddleshine continued. “Alderheart saw a cat that he believes was Rippletail in the Twolegplace. He says Rippletail was living as a kittypet and would not speak to him.”

Shock jolted down Cloverfoot’s spine, her relief that Yarrowleaf wasn’t in any trouble replaced by an intense rejection of what Puddleshine had said. “That’s impossible!” she blurted out, abruptly getting to her paws. “Rippletail would never choose to become a kittypet! He’s as loyal to ShadowClan as any of us.”

A tail brushed softly down her back, and she turned to see Berryheart gazing at her patiently. Composing herself, Cloverfoot sat back on her haunches, flicking her ears with annoyance as she waited for Puddleshine to continue.

“I understand that it’s hard to believe,” the young tom said calmly. “But we have to consider that it might be true. You said that Rippletail vanished from your patrol just before your return to the lake. He could easily have made his way over to the Twolegplace.”

Cloverfoot nodded reluctantly, as beside her Berryheart did the same.

“You all are Rippletail’s closest kin,” Tawnypelt said. “As Tigerstar explained, you deserve to be involved in the decision of what the Clan is to do about this.” The tortoiseshell she-cat’s voice was crisp, but sympathetic.

“What decision is there to make?” Snowbird asked. Her white pelt seemed to shake, though Cloverfoot couldn’t tell whether it was from excitement or nervousness. “We have to go bring him home, immediately!”

“Do we?” Puddleshine mewed. “Alderheart seemed to think that Rippletail wanted to be left alone.”

“Alderheart doesn’t know Rippletail as well as we do,” Cloverfoot argued, her tail lashing back and forth dismissively. “He isn’t Rippletail’s kin. We are. And why would Rippletail be eager to see a ThunderClan cat, anyway?” She fought to keep her voice polite. _Puddleshine isn’t seriously suggesting we leave him in the Twolegplace?_

“Would Rippletail be eager to see _any_ Clan cat?” Berryheart murmured. “After all, he chose to leave us, back at the pond.”

Cloverfoot stared at her sister in disbelief. “Why would you say that? You don’t know what happened to him. None of us do!”

Tawnypelt leaned forward, her green eyes narrowed. “Do you have a better explanation for what might have caused Rippletail’s disappearance, Cloverfoot?”

“I didn’t give it much thought at the time,” Cloverfoot admitted, feeling her fur prick with discomfort. “I assumed he had gone off to hunt. It’s possible he got lost and couldn’t find his way back to the group before we left. None of us knew the territory.”

“I don’t believe Rippletail would ever get lost,” Snowbird said softly. “He was always the best at tracking a scent out of the three of you, ever since you were kits.”

Cloverfoot’s chest tightened as she heard her mother’s words. “So now you agree with Berryheart?” she asked, not able to meet Snowbird’s gaze. “You think Rippletail abandoned his kin and his Clanmates, and ran off to become a kittypet?”

Strong pawsteps fell on the den floor as Scorchfur padded over to where she sat. “No one’s saying Rippletail meant to do anything,” he mewed. “But we have to consider what the most likely situation is, and everything we know points to Rippletail leaving by choice.” He lifted his tail, laying it gently beside her own.

Cloverfoot wasn’t sure what surprised her more: That her normally hot-headed father was staying calm and rational, or that he had displayed affection for her so openly.

 _It’s because he’s content_ , she realized. _Him and Snowbird both. All of a sudden they have me back, and Berryheart, and Yarrowleaf. After so long with all of their grown kits missing, they must feel like a starving Clan reaching the end of a harsh leaf-bare. They don’t feel the need to go looking for any more of us._ For the first time in her life, she found herself wishing that Scorchfur would be more aggressive.

“During the journey, did Rippletail express any doubts?” Puddleshine asked. “Anything that might explain his actions?”

“Never,” said Berryheart, her eyes wide. “At least, not to me. But my focus was on my kits for most of the way back to the lake.” She turned back to Cloverfoot. “What about you, Cloverfoot? Did he tell you anything?”

Cloverfoot hesitated, fear gripping at her throat. _I can’t tell them about Heronwing._ She’d promised Rippletail she wouldn’t tell another cat that he had confessed to killing the RiverClan warrior during the brutal battle that Darktail had launched on their territory. “Nothing,” she muttered. “He seemed as determined to rejoin ShadowClan as any of us.” Only one other cat knew about Rippletail’s guilt.

 _We should have invited Slatefur to this meeting_ , Cloverfoot thought, cursing herself for not realizing it sooner. _He knew Rippletail well. Not the way Berryheart or I did—we were his littermates, after all—but in his own way, Slatefur seemed to understand him._ She and Rippletail had fought alongside the younger warrior against Darktail’s cats before leaving the lake, and moons later he had encountered their patrol on their way back with Tigerheart. _Slatefur might have seen something in Rippletail’s behavior that I didn’t._ Glumly, she wondered if she had been too blind to Rippletail’s faults, too willing to take him at his word when he assured her that things were fine.

Tigerstar spoke again, his mew once more a low rumble. “If no cat has anything more to add, then my decision seems clear.” His massive shoulders rippling, ShadowClan’s leader drew himself up to his full height. “Rippletail is to be left alone. If he returns to the Clan, we will of course welcome him back, but no cat is to go to Twolegplace looking for him. And no cat is to speak a _word_ of this to the rest of the Clan.”

“I have to tell Sparrowtail,” Berryheart protested immediately. “He spent all those moons with Rippletail in the Twoleg den just as we did. He deserves to know.”

“And Yarrowleaf must know, too,” Snowbird added. “You can’t ask all her kin to keep this a secret from her.”

Tigerstar exchanged a glance with Tawnypelt, who nodded briefly. The dark tabby paused, then nodded his head as well. “Very well. Sparrowtail and Yarrowleaf. But no others. And none of the kits in the nursery are to hear _anything_ ,” he finished, turning to glare at Snowbird and Berryheart. The two queens met his gaze, blinking their acknowledgment.

“Wait!” Cloverfoot broke in. “Let me tell Slatefur. Please. He was only part of our patrol for a short time, but he was close with Rippletail. He must have been devastated when Rippletail vanished. He _needs_ to know.”

Tigerstar fixed his amber stare on her, and Cloverfoot felt the eyes of all the other cats in the den turn in her direction as well. _They don’t believe me. They don’t know what the three of us have experienced together._ Her pelt grew hot as she waited for Tigerstar to say something, dreading what his answer might be.

Finally the Clan leader drew back, and the shadows in the den seemed to lessen. “Fine,” he growled. “I’ll take your word for it.” His tail swished, and Cloverfoot realized that she and the other cats were being dismissed.

Scorchfur drew up alongside her as they filed out through the brambles. “So, Slatefur’s part of our family now, hmm?”

“What?” Cloverfoot asked, distracted by her own thoughts.

“Well, Berryheart made sure that she could tell Sparrowtail,” her father mewed good-naturedly, blinking against the sunlight as they stepped back out into the camp. “And you did the same with—”

“No!” Cloverfoot gasped, horrified that Scorchfur had misinterpreted her concern as something more. “He’s a good warrior and a friend. I trust him. That’s it.”

The dark gray tom paused, as if he was about to make another teasing remark, then decided against it. “I see.” He started off towards the warriors’ den, his tail waving in the air.

Cloverfoot rolled her eyes, then wondered if she should return to her nest as well. _It’s a normal day in ShadowClan_. It had been moons since she’d been part of the normal routine of patrols.

 _It will be hard_ , she realized, _but I’ll have to get used to a Clan without Rippletail in it._ ****

**Chapter 2**

The log creaked underneath Slatefur’s paws as he crouched, ready to pounce atop the shrew if needed. He lowered his tail steadily, maintaining his balance on the old, rotting wood while staying as still as possible. The shrew wasn’t entirely upwind of him, and he couldn’t afford to give it any hint that he was there, waiting for it to run.

Below, on the forest floor, the shrew froze, its small ears pricked with alert. Slatefur tensed. _Any moment now..._ The sleek gray tom unsheathed his claws.

A faint scraping noise creaked out of the nearby thicket, almost inaudible over the sounds of the forest in newleaf. Every hair on the shrew’s tiny pelt stood straight up. Muscles tensing, Slatefur prepared to pounce. It was now or never.

Leaves flew into the air as a gray tabby exploded from the thicket, pelting towards the shrew at full speed. The cat’s blue eyes gleamed with excitement, and the shrew screeched in fear as it fled. Before Slatefur could make a move, the other cat put on a burst of speed, leaping to catch the shrew with claws outstretched.

Purring contentedly, Slatefur hopped down from his perch, trotting over to where the tabby was standing over the shrew’s limp body. “Very nicely done,” he purred, flicking his tail.

“I’m sorry!” Frondpaw burst out, looking up at him anxiously from her kill. “I know I was supposed to drive the shrew towards you, so that _you_ could catch it—”

“No, I said I would be waiting ahead of the shrew _just in case_ you couldn’t catch it,” Slatefur mewed, resisting the urge to laugh. “You did a fantastic job; that leap was perfectly timed. You’ve become an excellent hunter.”

His apprentice kneaded the ground beneath her paws, as if distressed. “Are you sure? Maybe I can do fine on my own, but how does that help when I’m supposed to be working with other cats?” Her deep blue eyes flashed with worry.

Despite himself, Slatefur paused, marvelling at how two cats that looked so alike could be so completely different in temperament. Even after more than three moons of training Frondpaw, he was always taken aback by how remarkably she resembled her older sister, Cloverfoot. Both she-cats had inherited the gray fur of their father, Scorchfur, but with a tabby pattern—and their eyes were the exact same shade of blue, like the feathers on a jay’s crest. But where Cloverfoot was self-assured to a fault, Frondpaw was always looking for her own mistakes, even where there were none to be found.

 _It’s like Snowbird and Scorchfur poured every ounce of confidence they had into their first litter_ , Slatefur thought, _and had none left over for their last._ But he knew that wasn’t true. Frondpaw’s littermates were nothing like her. Gullpaw took after their mother in every way, with pure white fur and a common-sense practicality, while Conepaw’s thick white-and-gray pelt cushioned his cheerful, easygoing nature.

Pushing his thoughts away, Slatefur cleared his throat. “I’m sure,” he said, trying to use his most reassuring voice. “You’ve sharpened your battle skills as well. Did you see Cinnamonpaw’s face when you knocked her over yesterday? She couldn’t believe she’d been beaten by a cat young enough to be her own kit!”

“I did okay there,” Frondpaw admitted, licking a paw and drawing it back over her ear. The fur on her shoulders relaxed.

Relieved, he pressed on. “Trust me, the only thing you need to work on—” He leaned forward eagerly. “—is your _confidence_. Improve that, and I’m certain you’ll pass your warrior assessment no problem.”

“My warrior assessment?” All at once the young she-cat’s fur bushed up again, and she slid her claws in and out nervously. “Is it that soon?”

Slatefur sighed softly, disappointment snuffing out the hope that had briefly flickered in his chest. “I’ll need to check with Grassheart and Tawnypelt, but yes, I’m fairly certain it will be within the next moon. And you’ll do _fine_ ,” he added, praying to StarClan his apprentice believed him. “The other Clans had better watch out once you have your warrior name!”

At his words, an odd still seemed to come over Frondpaw. Her nervous fidgeting ceased, and her eyes narrowed. Instead of anxious, she seemed almost disapproving.

 _Was it something I said?_ Slatefur wondered. “Is something wrong?”

Frondpaw remained silent for a moment, seeming to struggle with whether to say anything. Finally she lowered her muzzle and spoke. “... Gullpaw was on a hunting patrol yesterday.”

 _And?_ Slatefur wanted to add. But he said nothing, knowing it was better to let her speak at her own pace.

“They went hunting in _SkyClan_ territory.”

Slatefur frowned. “Was Gullpaw telling you about a _dream_ she had?”

“No! This was real.” The young tabby’s gray fur stood on end, and she scraped at the dirt. “Tigerstar sent her and Grassheart on a hunting patrol, and Whorlpelt went with them, and Juniperclaw—”

Slatefur’s head swirled with confusion. _What in the world were they doing over there? Tigerstar can’t have ordered them to steal prey!_

“Isn’t that wrong?” Frondpaw asked, blinking. “After all, SkyClan was kind to us. I remember living in their nursery. Tinycloud’s kits played with us. Pigeonkit and I chased the elders’ tails together all the time.” Her mew grew stronger, more certain, in a way that it never did when talking about her training. “We shouldn’t be hunting on their land!”

“I never lived in SkyClan’s camp,” Slatefur said slowly. “But the warrior code does forbid us to take prey that belongs to another Clan. A Clan leader would never allow it.”

“They were hunting,” she insisted. “Gullpaw said she caught a fat squirrel for Dovewing’s kits.”

The uncertainty of the situation was making his fur prick; it was time to change the subject. “Let’s return to our own hunting for now. Whatever happened, I’m sure Tigerstar had a good reason for it. Obeying your Clan leader is _also_ part of the warrior code.” He opened his jaws to taste the air, trying to work out where there might be a finch or robin for Frondpaw to stalk.

“But Gullpaw _said_ —”

“Bring the shrew,” Slatefur said, his voice hardening slightly. He started off briskly in the direction of the lake. _I’ll have to ask Grassheart about this when we return to camp, but I’m not going to tell Frondpaw that her littermate—and Tigerstar—broke the warrior code, not before I know what happened._ He heard Frondpaw sigh as she began to follow him, the shrew’s tail dangling from her jaws.

As his apprentice hurried to his side, another scent suddenly assailed Slatefur’s nose. One of his Clanmates was approaching, their pelt edged with fear-scent. Soon he could hear hurried pawsteps drumming across the ground, and before long the cat burst into view. It was Flowerstem, her fur in disarray and her eyes wide.

An ominous feeling crept down Slatefur’s spine, fear dropping like a rock into his stomach. “Flowerstem?” he asked, his voice cautious. “Is something wrong?”

The silver she-cat gazed straight at him, her eyes dark. “It’s Puddleshine.”

**Chapter 3**

Tigerstar’s call rang out across the camp, his voice strong and resonant. “Let all cats old enough—”

 _Now?_ Cloverfoot thought, perplexed. The sun was beginning to set, and the cats who had been chosen to attend the Gathering would be leaving soon. She herself would be staying in camp that night, as Tigerstar had elected to prioritize all of the apprentices and their mentors; for many of the apprentices, this would be their first time sharing tongues with the other Clans. What was so urgent that Tigerstar couldn’t save it for the Gathering?

“—here beneath the Pinebranch for a Clan meeting!”

Cloverfoot exchanged a glance with Yarrowleaf. The queen shrugged, her ginger fur rippling peacefully in the evening breeze. “Maybe he wants to make some more apprentices. You can never have too many.”

Cloverfoot snorted with laughter at the remark. “Yes, I can’t see why our leader would have any concerns about ‘too many apprentices’ in the Clan. That’s never gotten us into trouble before.” She gave her sister a gentle shove.

“I spent more time in ShadowClan than you did!” Yarrowleaf protested, screeching in mock offense.

“Only before you noticed a certain brown tabby…” Their whiskers twitching, the two she-cats got to their paws, leaving behind the shady patch of grass where they’d been sharing a mouse and heading a short distance across camp to the low branch that hung above Tigerstar’s den. _I’m glad we can make light of all the dark times our Clan has been through_ , Cloverfoot mused. _We’ve come so far in the few moons since then._

Most of the Clan had already settled into place to hear Tigerstar speak. Yarrowleaf spotted Berryheart near the center of the crowd and trotted over to sit beside her. Wryly narrowing her eyes, Cloverfoot hung back. She could stand to listen to their leader’s announcement without hearing her sisters gossiping about their kits the entire time.

Off to the side, she noticed Slatefur sitting by himself. The gray tom had his ears perked up attentively, but the expression on his face was far from optimistic. Cloverfoot felt a pang of sympathy for her friend, and her first instinct was to move to join him. But she fought back the impulse. _There’s nothing I can say that will make him stop worrying._

It had been over a quarter moon since a ThunderClan patrol had found Puddleshine near their border, pinned underneath a clump of Twoleg silverthorn, and had brought him to their camp for treatment. When he’d heard the news, Slatefur had immediately demanded to be part of the patrol to check in on how his littermate was doing, but Tigerstar had refused, deciding it was better to send cats who would be less likely to show ThunderClan just how concerned they were.

Once the last few apprentices had stopped whispering to each other—Blazepaw, Cloverfoot noted, had stayed quiet and respectful—Tigerstar gave a flick of his tail. At once, a small number of cats rose and stepped forward, turning to face their Clanmates and sitting back on their haunches beneath the branch. Cloverfoot blinked with surprise. _Juniperclaw. Gullpaw. Grassheart. Whorlpelt. What are they doing up there?_ The Clan’s newly-appointed deputy, naturally, would take part in Tigerstar’s announcement, but the other cats had nothing in common that she could see. Their chests were puffed out and their eyes shone with pride, as if they had been chosen for a special honor.

“As you all know, tonight I shall announce our new deputy to the other Clans,” Tigerstar boomed from his perch, his amber gaze steady. “Juniperclaw has proven a capable and worthy deputy in the short time since he was promoted.”

Cloverfoot shifted her paws uneasily, remembering the collective surprise of the Clan when Tawnypelt had decided to step down from the role shortly after the previous Gathering. Juniperclaw had not been a popular choice, and there had been rumors he was only chosen because he was Tigerstar’s kin. _Perhaps Tigerstar was just following from his father’s choices_ , she thought idly. _First Rowanstar selected his daughter’s mate, Crowfrost, to be deputy, then his own son, and in the end his own mate._ By that logic, Juniperclaw was an obvious candidate for the position, as the son of Tigerstar’s sister Dawnpelt. Still, Cloverfoot admitted to herself, even if that were the case, she couldn’t help but feel that most of the Clan would have preferred Strikestone, his littermate. He lacked none of his brother’s strength, but seemed to possess a degree of self-restraint that was missing in Juniperclaw. _It’s too bad Strikestone never mentored an apprentice._ If he had, he might have been chosen in his brother’s place.

Tigerstar’s resounding mew dragged her back to the meeting. “However, that is not the only news we will bring to the Gathering.” He nodded at the cats sitting in front of him. “A quarter moon ago, Juniperclaw led these cats on a hunting patrol to take prey from the land that SkyClan currently claims as theirs.”

Stunned gasps spread across the gathered ShadowClan cats, and murmurs began to break out all over the camp. More than a few voices seemed to be raised in anger.

Cloverfoot remained silent, but her mind was ablaze. _Those nosy SkyClan cats were right!_ Just under a quarter moon ago, she had been hunting near the SkyClan border and run into Violetshine, the SkyClan cat who ShadowClan had raised as a kit, and Tree, the strange yellow loner who Leafstar had appointed as a “mediator.” The two of them had exchanged small talk with her, seemingly thinking they were being subtle, though they had obviously been prying for ShadowClan secrets. _They practically challenged me to admit we had crossed their border! And I denied anything of the sort!_ Her chest tightened, and for the first time in moons, her spine crawled with misgivings. _I thought I was telling the truth._

“This patrol was only the first of many!” Tigerstar called, raising his deep voice above the din. “SkyClan hunts on land that has belonged to ShadowClan for as long as most of us have lived! The other Clans preach the importance of reuniting us all beside the lake, but they have not volunteered any land of their own to give to the new arrivals! If they choose to be mouse-hearted hypocrites, then so be it—but ShadowClan will not sit by, complacently, and allow our territory to be stolen!”

His words seemed to quiet the fervent whispers of surprise. Across the camp, some cats began to offer cheers of support, and many more nodded their heads in silent agreement. To her shock, Cloverfoot saw that Snowbird was among those in assent. Her mother was one of the last cats she would have expected to support a move against SkyClan, after she had birthed and raised her latest litter there.

Her pelt grew hot with discomfort, for a reason she couldn’t quite identify.

Not every cat seemed satisfied. Oakfur raised his muzzle to speak. “This is your plan to restore our Clan’s glory, Tigerstar? Crossing borders and taking prey?” The brown-furred elder’s mew was stern. “Other leaders before you have done this. It has never resulted in ShadowClan gaining more than it loses.”

The large tabby lashed his tail, his shoulders squared. “Have patience, Oakfur. I am not a fool. This is no petty exercise in prey-stealing; we are doing this to teach SkyClan that they are not welcome on our land.” His eyes rounded, as if in understanding. “Once our point has been sufficiently made, the other Clans will see that this situation cannot continue. They will come to a new agreement, and we will have a fair say in determining where SkyClan should reside in the future.”

Cloverfoot spoke up, making sure to choose her words carefully. “And you’ll make this clear to the other Clans at the Gathering?” she asked. _If I help clarify Tigerstar’s plan_ , she reasoned, _it will help everyone discuss the situation more sensibly, without arguing._ Some cats turned to face her as she spoke, but she kept her gaze focused on her leader.

He nodded to her, his whiskers twitching. “I understand some of you may have further apprehensions. Those can be discussed _after_ we have demonstrated our will to do what we must. Only then will our demands be taken seriously.”

Before any cat could raise further objections, Tigerstar jumped down from the Pinebranch, landing deftly in front of the assembled cats. “Come. The Gathering awaits.” With a flick of his tail, the ShadowClan leader strode towards the camp entrance. The cats who had been chosen to attend the Gathering quickly followed, trailing in his wake.

An unhappy mew caught Cloverfoot’s ear, and she turned to see Slatefur talking with Frondpaw as the two of them passed through the thorn tunnel. The gray-furred tom’s tail was waving agitatedly, and his apprentice’s ears were drooping with disappointment. Cloverfoot could just barely make out her younger sister’s words. “But if the warrior code says—”

“Ask me later. We’re falling behind the others.” Slatefur’s green eyes seemed to have lost their usual luster. His mew was low and somber, as if he didn’t have the energy to put together a full response to his apprentice’s question.

The rest of the Clan began to disperse, returning to their dens or other tasks as their Clanmates departed. Before long, Cloverfoot was alone near the leader’s den, a myriad of thoughts swirling through her head as she watched the last few cats file out of camp, heading to deliver Tigerstar’s news to the island.

It was obvious that the unexpected announcement had left more cats than just Frondpaw feeling confused. _I’m not sure if I agree with Tigerstar myself._ In the coming days, ShadowClan would have to decide how far it was willing to go in pursuit of justice. _Or at least_ , Cloverfoot thought, _what Tigerstar believes is justice._

All she could hope for was that everything would be clearer in the morning.

**Chapter 4**

“Are you alright?”

Slatefur pushed his way out of the medicine den, shaking sand out of his pelt as he left the dry hollow. “ _I’m_ fine,” he mewed sadly. “I’m not the one with an infection even the medicine cats have no idea how to cure.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sparrowtail continued, his clear blue eyes wide with concern. “How are you feeling? It can’t be easy, seeing your only kin like that.” The large tabby tom had been waiting on his haunches just outside the den entrance, after Slatefur had asked to go in by himself.

Slatefur hesitated, his throat tightening as he tried to find words to describe the awful sight he’d witnessed inside: Puddleshine, his fur matted and body limp, an intense stench emanating from his pelt, caught in the throes of an infection unlike anything Slatefur had ever heard of. His brother was unconscious, but from time to time had jerked his paws, as if trapped in a terrible nightmare. Alderheart, sitting on the far side of the den, had said little, his paws shifting as if he was embarrassed that he couldn’t cure Puddleshine’s affliction. For his part, Slatefur had said nothing at all to the ThunderClan medicine cat, unsure whether he wanted to plead with him to find a cure as quickly as possible, or vent his fury that Alderheart hadn’t already done so.

 _ShadowClan hasn’t seen any cat struck this badly since we had yellowcough_ , Slatefur thought, shuddering at the memory of the sickness that had afflicted half the Clan back when he was an apprentice. _But back then, it was Puddleshine who looked after all of us. I never thought I’d see him needing to be taken care of by another medicine cat._

“That was… horrible,” he said slowly, gazing back at Sparrowtail. “Beyond anything I’d imagined, even after Tawnypelt told us what he was like.”

The brown-furred tom nodded, then stepped forward, touching his muzzle to Slatefur’s in a brief gesture of empathy. “He’ll recover. You’ll see. We didn’t bring him back to camp just to die.”

That morning, after what had felt to Slatefur like an eternity of restless nights, Tigerstar had finally announced he’d be making another trip to ThunderClan territory. He still hadn’t allowed Slatefur to accompany them, but had agreed to Slatefur’s request that another cat be included in his stead, a cat he trusted—Sparrowtail, his former mentor.

But when Tigerstar’s patrol had returned a short while ago, Slatefur had been as shocked as the rest of the Clan to see two more cats with them. Alderheart had walked alongside Tigerstar, a bundle of herbs clenched between his jaws, his muzzle lifted high into the air, as if daring the ShadowClan warriors to challenge him, while Sparrowtail and Juniperclaw had carried Puddleshine between them on their backs, slowly padding across camp to the medicine den, where Slatefur had at once hurried inside to see his injured littermate for himself. _If only Tigerstar had let me go on the first patrol._ He felt his ears twitch with irritation at his leader’s stubbornness, remembering that Tawnypelt had reported Puddleshine was conscious when she’d seen him last.

“Thank you,” Slatefur breathed, blinking gratefully at Sparrowtail. “For carrying him back. I wish I could’ve helped.”

Sparrowtail gave another nod. “I was glad to do it.” His tail swished in a relaxed manner. “Puddleshine may be your littermate, but he’s medicine cat to _all_ of us.” He sat down in a patch of sunlight and began to groom himself, smoothing out the ruffled fur along his back.

“Even still, I’m grateful, to you and Juniperclaw both.” An odd thought entered into Slatefur’s head, and he glanced around the camp. By now most of the warriors had returned to their duties, and there were few cats milling about in the open. “Where _is_ Juniperclaw? He was with you when I went into the den.”

Sparrowtail jerked his muzzle towards the camp entrance. “He left just after you went inside. He said he had something to take care of for Tigerstar.”

Confused, Slatefur frowned, absentmindedly raising a hind paw to scratch at his side. Ever since Juniperclaw had been appointed deputy, the black tom had begun to act more and more distant towards the other warriors. _We were never close, but he barely even feels like a normal ShadowClan cat anymore._ Besides Tigerstar himself, the Clan had gone through several deputies already in Slatefur’s lifetime, but as far as he could remember, none of them had behaved as strangely as Juniperclaw was now.

Sparrowtail got to his paws, purring, and shook out his brown tabby pelt. “Do you want to share a mouse? I’m a bit famished after carrying Puddleshine, and I promised Berryheart I’d bring her and the kits something once I got back.”

Nodding, Slatefur followed the other tom across camp to the fresh-kill pile, where they selected a small mouse and a juicy blackbird from near the top of the heap. Then they carried the prey over to the nursery, where Slatefur waited outside while Sparrowtail went in with the blackbird.

“Slatefur!” He turned at the sound of his name to see Cloverfoot trotting towards him from the camp entrance. Her pelt smelled strongly of pine needles, and behind her Slatefur could see Snaketooth and Whorlpelt emerging from the thorn tunnel as well.

He dropped the mouse and greeted her amicably with a flick of his tail. “Hunting patrol?”

She nodded. “On _our_ territory, before you ask.” Then her shoulders seemed to sag. “Not to say that the land SkyClan is hunting _isn’t_ our territory, but—well, you know what I mean.”

“I do.” He touched his muzzle politely to hers. “Tigerstar made his position on that very clear last night.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How did the Gathering go?” Cloverfoot’s mew was calm, but apprehensive.

Slatefur blinked. “It’s nearly midday. You haven’t heard about it from any other cat?”

The gray she-cat’s tail twitched. “Tawnypelt told me what happened earlier this morning, but I wanted to hear what you thought of it as well.”

Slatefur hesitated, shifting his paws in the grass. His pelt grew hot as he opened his jaws. “I’m not sure. I suppose Tigerstar would say it went well, because the other leaders seemed to have no problems with his decision, but at the same time…” He jerked his muzzle upwards to meet Cloverfoot’s gaze, immediately unnerving himself as he stared into eyes so similar to his apprentice’s. “It didn’t feel like the rest of the cats there really _approved_ of what we’re doing. More like they just didn’t think it was worth getting their paws dirty by taking a side—either ours or SkyClan’s. Bramblestar pretty much told Tree to figure out a solution for us, on his own.”

Cloverfoot rolled her eyes. “That’s harebrained. What’s one loner supposed to say that Tigerstar and Leafstar can’t work out for themselves?”

Despite the warm newleaf sun on his pelt, Slatefur shivered, recalling the tension palpable in the air at the Gathering. “I don’t know, but Tigerstar won’t be eager to negotiate with Leafstar himself. He may as well have declared that she had no authority last night.”

A rustle in the ferns behind them signaled Sparrowtail’s return. The tom’s eyes lit up as he spotted Cloverfoot. “I thought I scented you out here.” He nodded in greeting. “Care to split a mouse with us?”

Cloverfoot seemed to hesitate, glancing over her shoulder at the other cats milling about in the camp. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“We’ve been discussing last night’s Gathering,” Slatefur added helpfully, frowning as the tabby she-cat trailed off. “Cloverfoot, is something wrong?”

The warrior gave her chest fur a quick lick. “Not exactly. I’m just worried we’re more likely to be noticed if all three of us are talking.”

Sparrowtail tilted his head, puzzled. “Noticed? What’s wrong with that?”

“I just… I wanted to talk to you two about this, alone. Cats I trust. That’s all.”

Slatefur exchanged a quick glance with his former mentor, the bewilderment in the other cat’s eyes mirroring his own. _Since when does Cloverfoot have trust issues?_

“I know where we can talk privately, if that would help,” he mewed quickly. The mouse forgotten, he started off briskly towards a particular spot in the camp’s outer wall, beckoning with his tail for them to follow. Making sure no one else in the camp was paying too much attention, he slipped quickly behind a juniper bush into a small area bordered on the other side by the barrier.

Squeezing into the enclosure, Sparrowtail twitched his whiskers in irritation as brambles from the camp wall pricked at his fur. “Not exactly an easy fit for three cats,” he grunted.

“I’ve seen _four_ do it,” Slatefur purred. “My littermates and I used to meet here all the time. Of course,” he added with amusement, “we were apprentices back then.”

Cloverfoot snorted good-naturedly. Then, her gaze growing more somber, she turned to face Sparrowtail. “Do you think Tigerstar’s done the right thing?”

The large tom was taken aback by her directness. “What do you mean?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing. “The hunting patrols, or the announcement last night?”

“Both. Either.” Her tail swept back and forth over the ground. “I’m not questioning that we need our territory back, or at least part of it. But it feels like Tigerstar’s pushing us towards a conflict with SkyClan, despite what he said yesterday.”

Slatefur drew back with surprise. _Is she really saying she doesn’t think we should fight for what we need?_ Cloverfoot had been one of the first ShadowClan warriors to join Darktail’s Kin. She had taken charge of their patrol on the journey back to the lake. _How is this the same cat who declared we would return to ShadowClan or die trying?_

Sparrowtail seemed to have the same idea. “What’s gotten into you?” he snarled. “I told the other Clans at the Gathering: No one dictates to ShadowClan!” His clear blue gaze seemed to be pinning Cloverfoot to the spot. “Fighting other Clans is what we do. It’s what all warriors do! And this is a fight that needs to happen.”

“SkyClan were our allies not too long ago, though,” Slatefur protested, remembering the concerns Frondpaw had expressed to him. The shock of Puddleshine’s accident had pushed his apprentice’s initial tale out of his mind, and as the days passed and no more patrols came back to camp with SkyClan scent clinging to their pelts, he had forgotten about her words entirely, until yesterday’s events had brought them flashing back like a bolt of lightning. “So many of our Clanmates lived in their camp until we returned with Tigerstar.”

The brown tabby’s muzzle spun in his direction. “Are you saying you _agree_ with—”

“No, no,” Slatefur said truthfully, hastening to reassure his former mentor. “I don’t think Tigerstar’s wrong to believe we have to be aggressive. I just think that there are reasons a cat might be concerned about what’s going to happen.” He turned kindly towards Cloverfoot. “Frondpaw wasn’t happy about this, either.”

She regarded him with interest. “I noticed that. What did you tell her?”

“Honestly, the same thing I’m telling you now,” he murmured, licking a front paw. “It’s understandable that you have reservations. But that doesn’t mean Tigerstar made the wrong decision. As important as it is to trust your own judgment, you have to know when to support your Clan.”

Sparrowtail nodded in agreement. “Cinnamonpaw gets it. She told me that the group she was part of, in the Twolegplace, had trouble with some other cats that were stealing their prey. There was nothing they could do to stop it.” He wrapped his tail around his paws. “Now that she’s part of a Clan, she’s amazed they never tried using borders back in the Twolegplace. She says she can’t imagine not doing her best to make sure that her Clanmates are well fed.”

Cloverfoot looked unsure, but Sparrowtail pressed onward. “I’m certain you’re not the only warrior in ShadowClan who feels this way. Just remember that commitment to the warrior code _despite_ those doubts is what will make us strong in the end.”

After a pause, Cloverfoot shook her head, then turned to exit from their hiding place. Before either of the toms could protest, her muzzle swung back around to face them. Her blue eyes still held a shadow of doubt. “I want to believe you both, honestly,” she mewed. “But I can’t shake the feeling that we’re only going to cause more death if we go to war with SkyClan over the territory. Our Clan’s suffered enough losses already.” Then she was gone, the juniper bush shaking ever so slightly as she brushed against it.

Slatefur gaped, the she-cat’s bizarre behavior making his pelt tingle with confusion. “What in the _world’s_ gotten into her fur?”

Sparrowtail’s lips curled with distaste. “I’ve never seen her act like such a scaredy-mouse.”

A horrible feeling entered Slatefur’s thoughts, his front paws shaking with dread. He turned to the other tom. “Do you think… is there any chance she’s feeling guilty about Rippletail?”

An odd expression came over Sparrowtail’s face. “Why would you say that? What does she have to be feel guilty for? Rippletail was the one who chose to run off.”

His stomach churning with unease, Slatefur tried to find the right words to describe without giving away too much. “When we were travelling back to the lake, Cloverfoot was more determined to rejoin ShadowClan than any of us. You know that.” He recalled her telling him what Puddleshine had discovered about Rippletail, just after their return. She had mentioned that Sparrowtail was going to be informed as well.

 _But neither of them were there when Rippletail left. I was._ He couldn’t let on that he knew what Rippletail’s motives were for a fact, or Sparrowtail might guess. But… “What if she thinks that her strength and firm stance were what pushed Rippletail away? That would explain why she’s lost her edge. She’s worried Tigerstar’s going to cause the same kind of unintentional harm that she did.” He was telling the truth. Cloverfoot really did seem to be harboring a personal regret, one that went beyond her opinions on Tigerstar’s leadership. _I’m not lying. I’m just leaving a little out._

Sparrowtail sighed and got to his paws, clearly tired of the debate. “If that’s really what she thinks, then I feel sorry for her. Honestly. That can’t be easy to live with. But if all she can do with that feeling is waste our time questioning Tigerstar’s decisions, I’d sooner she realized Rippletail’s actions are no one’s fault but his own.” He started to shake out his pelt, then seemed to think better of it, eyeing the bramble-filled barrier wall cautiously. “I’ve got to meet Stonewing and Tawnypelt for the apprentices’ battle training soon. Any interest in bringing Frondpaw to join us?”

Slatefur shook his head, following the brown-furred tom back out into the camp. “I’m going to check on Puddleshine again. Tigerstar mentioned something about guarding the medicine den, and I want to take first watch.”

“You’re a good brother.” Sparrowtail turned and brushed his tail against Slatefur’s side in support briefly, before heading off towards the apprentices’ den. “Remember, don’t worry too much! Puddleshine cured yellowcough, he’s not going to let some Twoleg mess beat him.”

Slatefur felt his spirits lighten as he strode over to the nursery once more. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh air of newleaf. _That’s right. Cloverfoot’s worrying enough for the both of us, anyway. All I can do is wait._ Puddleshine would get better, and the situation with SkyClan would soon follow.

He retrieved the mouse from where he had dropped it, then hurried across the clearing to help his brother as best as he could.

**Chapter 5**

The last strands of dusk had begun to seep out of the camp. The warriors of StarClan were slowly becoming visible in the crow-black sky, and a peaceful stillness had descended upon the pine forest as the birdsong of day died away to be replaced by the calls of owls and nightingales.

Cloverfoot scuffed at the dirt with her front paws. She was seated just outside the medicine den entrance, Tigerstar having assigned her to keep watch over the den towards the close of the evening. The order hadn’t bothered her on its own—she was glad to be given the task, rather than being assigned to one of the upcoming SkyClan hunting patrols, which had already begun taking place openly earlier that day. ShadowClan’s leader hadn’t hid the fact that she was there to ensure Alderheart didn’t try to escape, but his reasoning seemed fair. _We’re just making sure our own medicine cat is well taken care of_ , she thought. _If Alderheart takes that as a sign of distrust, that’s his problem._

She stared stiffly ahead, trying her best to ignore the tingling feeling in her pelt. She knew she was imagining it, that it was only brought about by the one detail that _was_ making this assignment awkward for her: The other cat on guard duty, resting right beside her, was Scorchfur.

She had padded over to the den to replace Slatefur just as the sky was beginning to darken. The gray tom had looked at her with concern, seemingly still worried about their unhappy conversation from earlier that day, but she’d dismissed him with a flick of her tail, not wanting to restart the debate. Then, moments later, Scorchfur had trotted over to take his own place beside her, Tigerstar apparently having decided that two guards were needed.

On any other day, Cloverfoot wouldn’t have minded his presence. But she’d already seen how divisive talking about Tigerstar’s decision could be when she had met with Slatefur and Sparrowtail earlier. _I’ve already argued with them. I don’t want to have Scorchfur tell me I’m wrong, too!_ She knew it was only a matter of time before the willful tom brought up the subject.

Across the camp, Strikestone and Flowerstem finished the conversation they’d been having and padded into the warriors’ den. The clearing was now empty of cats, save for Cloverfoot and Scorchfur themselves. The stillness seemed to awaken some hidden, pristine memory in Cloverfoot’s mind, startling her with sudden nostalgia and making her fur stand on end. Then she relaxed, realizing what it was. _It’s like I’m sitting vigil on my first night as a warrior—with my father!_ She purred softly to herself.

Faint sounds like crumpling leaves crept into her ears, and she could just barely make out the scent of dried herbs. She swung her muzzle around to face Scorchfur, their gazes meeting in alarm.

“Is Alderheart doing something to the herb stocks?” her father hissed, his dark gray fur bristling with outrage.

“No, wait. I’ll go look,” she murmured, glad for a distraction. Before he could insist on investigating himself, she got to her paws and pushed her head through the den entrance, briefly flinching at the rancid smell still pulsing off of Puddleshine.

Her gaze landed on Alderheart crouched at the back end of the den, bent over a crack in the den wall. The dark ginger tom was pulling out bundles of herbs from the opening and laying them out on the den floor; some crumbled away as he pawed at them.

“What are you doing?!” Cloverfoot exclaimed, the ThunderClan cat freezing as she spoke. “Do you _need_ those?” Though she’d framed her words as an accusation, a part of her hoped he might answer yes. _Maybe he’s thought of a new remedy to try for Puddleshine._

“I’m clearing out the useless herbs,” Alderheart mewed calmly. He wrapped his tail around his paws as he turned to face her.

Suspicion flickered in her mind. Why would another Clan’s medicine cat care what herbs Puddleshine had in his den? She cleared her throat. “How do I know you’re not destroying Puddleshine’s stocks?”

His mew hardened. “Why would I do that? I’m a medicine cat, not a warrior. I don’t want to harm any cat.”

 _Does he think I don’t know that?_ “What about him?” Cloverfoot growled, angling her eyes at Puddleshine’s limp form. “You fed him deathberries.” Tigerstar had explained the ThunderClan tom’s mouse-brained decision to her when he placed her on guard duty. Surely Alderheart had the common sense to see that not everything he did was helpful?

The large tabby’s amber eyes glowed with irritation. “To _cure_ him,” he sneered. “Do you seriously think I’d try to kill your medicine cat?”

She resisted the urge to flatten her ears, despite her growing irritation that he’d completely missed her point. “If we lose him,” she ground out, “The whole of ShadowClan will suffer.”

“That’s why I’m trying to save him. _And_ because he’s a friend. But you’re not a medicine cat. You wouldn’t understand the bond we share.” He glowered at her.

Cloverfoot remained still, fighting to stop herself from snapping back at the arrogant tom. Giving up, she took a pace forward into the den, opening her jaws in a sarcastic mew. “Perhaps I don’t _understand_ , but I’m going to watch you sort those herbs, just to make sure you don’t ruin them.”

Behind her, Scorchfur stirred, glancing over his shoulder as she went inside. “Is everything okay in there?”

“It’s fine,” she told him firmly. “I’m just watching Alderheart sort herbs.” Warily, her father nodded, turning back around. She let out a deep breath, sitting down on her haunches just inside the den.

“You need to gather more thyme,” Alderheart muttered, still nosing through the stocks. “These leaves are so dry, there can’t be much strength left in them.”

Did this cat think everyone else knew everything he did? “How do I know what thyme looks like?” she asked, exasperated.

Without turning from the herbs, the ThunderClan medicine cat shoved a stalk covered in small leaves at her. “It looks like this. Sniff it. The smell is unmistakable.” He continued poring over some of the other bundles in front of him. “Fresh watermint will be sprouting soon. You should gather some of that, too. And borage, and nettles… You do know what nettles look like, I assume?”

 _Next he’ll ask if can tell a pine tree from a birch._ “Of course I know,” Cloverfoot groaned, wondering how any cat could be so oblivious. “But I’m a warrior! I don’t gather herbs.” Briefly, she considered that Alderheart’s ignorance might be the product of his easy life. As the son of ThunderClan’s leader and deputy, and as a medicine cat with two experienced mentors—both of _them_ his kin as well—he very well might have no sense of what an ordinary warrior did or didn’t know.

He seemed undeterred. “Once Puddleshine’s fever has broken, you can escort me into the forest and I can gather some for you. Puddleshine will be weak for some time, even when the sickness eases.”

Light pawsteps sounded outside the den while he spoke, and Cloverfoot heard hushed voices as Scorchfur greeted another cat. The brambles quivered, and she recognized the newcomer as Stonewing by his scent before his white fur flashed into her field of vision.

“Scorchfur said it would be all right to come in,” her Clanmate mewed, his voice sounding pained. His ears twitched as he glanced towards Puddleshine’s nest. “Is he okay?”

Alderheart lashed his tail. “Does he _look_ okay?”

Cloverfoot tried to give Stonewing a reassuring look, but he hesitated at the medicine cat’s harsh tone. “I’ve got a thorn in my pad,” he explained, cautiously holding up a forepaw.

“Can’t you get it out yourself?” she asked, not keen to find out how Alderheart would react to being asked to treat ordinary injuries.

He winced. “It’s in deep.”

She felt her shoulders droop as Alderheart padded over to sniff Stonewing’s paw, praying he wouldn’t claw the white tom’s pelt off.

“It will need herbs to stop it getting infected,” Alderheart mewed. “I can pull it out, but it will hurt.” Stonewing seemed to hesitate, his whiskers twitching uncertainly.

“Once it’s out, it will feel a lot better.” The medicine cat glanced over at Cloverfoot, his expression neutral. “I think I can get it out, if you’ll let me try?”

She sat motionless, stunned into silence by his sudden pleasant nature, before Stonewing spoke up. “I don’t want to go lame. Anyway, it’s my paw. I say let him try.”

She felt her pelt relax with relief, and let out a deep breath. “Okay. I just hope you don’t end up like Puddleshine,” she joked, hoping she didn’t sound as awkward as she felt.

Within moments Alderheart had yanked the thorn from Stonewing’s paw, and a steady stream of blood was seeping out of the fresh wound. The warrior started cleaning it with swift, strong licks, the fear-scent he had been exuding fading away.

“Give your paw a good wash while I find some marigold,” Alderheart ordered, spitting out the thorn onto the den floor. He walked to the back of the den, his tail swishing back and forth as he gathered up and began to chew some leaves.

Cloverfoot stared after him incredulously. Then, blinking, she reached out a front paw and deftly knocked the thorn underneath the bramble wall. _Did he forget it was there?_

The medicine cat trotted back to Stonewing, his tail waving jauntily. He didn’t seem to even notice she’d moved as he licked the freshly-pulped marigold into Stonewing’s pad. “Leave the marigold there for a day, then keep the wound clean.” The ShadowClan tom nodded enthusiastically and turned to exit the den.

“I guess you might as well handle Puddleshine’s duties while you’re here,” Cloverfoot mewed, trying to draw Alderheart’s attention.

As if she hadn’t even spoken, Alderheart walked over to where Puddleshine lay and began to wash the unconscious tom’s neck fur.

Her fur pricking with irritation, she began to consider returning to her post outside. Before she’d had the thought for more than a moment, though, she scented another approaching cat, and inwardly groaned.

“Cloverfoot?” Scorchfur called in. “Berryheart’s outside with Hollowkit. She says Hollowkit has a cough. Shall I let them in?”

She frowned, turning to Alderheart. “Is it safe in here for a kit?”

“Do you think I’d harm a _kit_?” he snarled.

She closed her eyes and forced herself not to unsheath her claws. _He’s not being rude on purpose, he’s just dumb. He’s not being rude on purpose, he’s just dumb._ “I _mean_ ,” she intoned, slowly, “he’s not contagious, is he?” She nodded towards Puddleshine.

Alderheart rolled his eyes. “Of course not. They can come in.”

She stepped stiffly away from the den entrance, beckoning to Berryheart with her tail. Her sister brushed softly against her pelt as she entered, gently nudging Hollowkit forward to sit in front of Alderheart. “He’s been sick for a few days,” Berryheart said with concern.

Alderheart tilted his head as the black-pelted kit let out a cough. “Is your throat sore?”

“Only when I swallow,” Hollowkit mewed timidly. The tomkit’s eyes went wide with fear as he spotted Puddleshine, and he stepped backwards, towards his mother. “Is he going to die? Yarrowleaf says you tried to poison him.”

Cloverfoot cursed under her breath, shifting her paws in the sandy floor. _I could have warned her not to gossip in front of the kits._ It was no surprise they’d gotten the wrong idea.

“A medicine cat would never harm any cat,” Alderheart replied kindly. Looking over the herbs he’d stacked again, he selected a stalk of tansy and thrust it towards Berryheart. “This should ease it. Get him to chew a mouthful before he goes to sleep and another when he wakes.” Blinking, he sniffed at Hollowkit, his eyes narrowed. “Has he had any fever?”

The black-and-white queen dipped her head with gratitude. “No. Just the cough.”

“Good. It’s just a cough left over from leaf-bare. It’ll be gone in a day or two. Keep him away from the other kits, but if they haven’t caught it by now, they’ll probably be fine.”

She nodded. “Spirekit and Sunkit are already sleeping with Yarrowleaf’s kits. Thanks for the tansy.” Berryheart grabbed the stem between her jaws and moved towards the entrance, whisking Hollowkit along with her tail. On the way out, she paused, levelling a warm gaze at Cloverfoot. Her eyes were soft, and seemed to contain a question— _Is everything alright?_

Cloverfoot nodded, lightly touching her sister’s back with her tail. _I’m fine._

She watched as Berryheart withdrew and Alderheart returned once more to the herb stocks. Relaxed, she settled down onto the den floor, her pelt smoothing over as her annoyance with Alderheart faded. He wasn’t what she would have considered an ideal substitute for Puddleshine, who always seemed to have infinite patience for the cats under his care. _But he helped Berryheart and her kits. He’s not too bad._ She could put up with guard duty for the rest of the night.

**Chapter 6**

Scorchfur flicked his ears, his eyes screwed up with irritation as he tried to dislodge the water droplets collecting inside them. “ _Now?_ In this weather?”

Though her own gray tabby pelt was soggy and her whiskers were heavy with moisture, Cloverfoot found herself having to suppress a laugh at her father’s discomfort. “Well, yes. Unless you can tell me that the rain’s going to suddenly stop pouring overnight, I don’t see a better time to go.”

“It _might_ ,” he grumbled, shaking mud out of his front claws.

They both knew he was only being contrary. It had been raining unceasingly for days, the downpour only increasing in volume with each passing sunrise. ShadowClan camp had been transformed into a mess of puddles and mud; the dens were nearly soaked through. But the Clan still needed to eat, and neither the hunting patrols nor the border patrols had decreased in frequency.

They weren’t on a patrol, though. “Remember, look for smaller leaves located further up the stem,” Cloverfoot reminded him, her eyes scanning the slope ahead of them. “Puddleshine said they produce the best results.”

Scorchfur thrust his muzzle forward and sniffed. “I remember.” He shook his head, his tail curling. “I can’t tell the individual plants apart. I’m no medicine cat, and the rain’s only muddling all the scents. How in StarClan have you been doing this every day?”

“It wasn’t _every_ day,” Cloverfoot demurred. She padded forward, in the direction of the lake. Puddleshine had recommended they search in that direction if they found no borage closer to camp. “Just… most of them. The more herbs I gathered, the easier it became to identify them.”

She kept walking, hoping Scorchfur would follow without pressing the subject of how she used her time. In truth, she’d been helping gather herbs every chance she got. Tigerstar had placed a great deal more trust in Alderheart after the ThunderClan medicine cat’s first night in their camp, and had removed the guards stationed outside the medicine den. But the raids into SkyClan territory had continued, and Cloverfoot had needed a reason not to take part in them. With Puddleshine still unconscious from his injuries and Alderheart staying by his side, she’d volunteered to collect the supplies that the medicine den lacked. It hadn’t occupied her every day, but it had been enough to get her excused from the hunting raids.

Behind her, Scorchfur quickened his pace, hurrying to walk alongside her as they continued down the slope towards the lake. “Well, I _can’t_ identify borage by smell alone. I’m not sure what borage is even _for_. Is there a reason you made me come along, instead of any other cat in the Clan?” he grunted. “I hear Sparrowtail’s apprentice has some experience with herbs. And aren’t the two of you friends? You could’ve asked her.”

She blinked, and leapt nimbly over a small puddle. “I wouldn’t say Cinnamonpaw and I are very close. Besides, she chose to train as a warrior apprentice. She wouldn’t appreciate me singling her out.”

Then she reconsidered. Cinnamonpaw probably would have been more than glad to help. The more Cloverfoot herself had poked her nose through the different berries and leaves that grew in ShadowClan territory, the more she found herself fascinated by how much knowledge a medicine cat had to be familiar with. _I’d never give up being a warrior, either_ , she thought. _But I’d be lying if I said this bored me._ The first few times she’d gone herb-gathering, it had been to have an excuse not to hunt on SkyClan territory. But it hadn’t taken long for her to start genuinely enjoying the task, returning to the medicine den feeling as proud as if she’d caught two fat rabbits for her Clan.

Even after the raids had stopped, she’d continued with the exercise whenever she could. Puddleshine had awoken a few days ago and Alderheart had been sent home, but the ShadowClan medicine cat was still tender from his wounds, and had been relieved to delegate some of the more arduous treks to her.

She stopped. They had arrived within sight of the lake’s roiling surface, its waters risen far above their normal height. She shuddered, resolving to stay a good few tail-lengths away from the shore.

“Let’s check over by that tree,” she instructed, nodding at a sturdy rowan. It would provide both them and the stalks they were searching for with some much-needed shelter.

Scorchfur darted over, shaking out his pelt once under cover of the tree’s massive branches.

A few moments passed as they each nosed around the small plants growing by the rowan’s base. None bore the distinctive blue-star petals of borage, but Cloverfoot hadn’t expected to find any so quickly.

“So,” she ventured, her mew carefully light, “do you think the storm really is our fault?”

Her father froze, his amber eyes narrowing dangerously. “You mean,” he growled, “because we allowed SkyClan to leave?”

The entire pine forest had belonged to ShadowClan for days now. The only reason the raids into SkyClan territory had stopped was because SkyClan territory had ceased to exist; the fifth Clan had departed abruptly early one morning, returning to the gorge that had once been their home. Tigerstar had declared victory and immediately sent patrols to re-mark the borders along the edges of RiverClan and ThunderClan territory.

ShadowClan hadn’t escaped entirely unscathed. One ambush by a SkyClan patrol had left Grassheart in the medicine den with a deep scratch; it had been a stroke of pure luck that Cloverfoot had been collecting marigold that same day, which Alderheart had used to treat the wound. But the conflict’s escalation had prompted the medicine cats to demand an emergency Gathering to settle the matter of Tigerstar’s claim on SkyClan land for good.

She swallowed, feeling her pelt heating up despite the chilling cold and wet. Raising her muzzle to face Scorchfur head-on, she kept her voice at a steady meow. “It’s a possibility, isn’t it? The rain began the same day that they left. Perhaps StarClan really did send this storm.”

The dark gray tom’s tail lashed, and his nostrils flared as if with disbelief. “And if they did? SkyClan left because we showed them that there was no other way for ShadowClan to take all that it needed. StarClan will come to respect that, just as all the other Clans have.”

She pressed onward, forcing herself to keep his gaze. “You don’t know the will of StarClan any more than I do. All I can see is that cats are suffering because of a choice our Clan made.”

“Stop pretending you’re this weak-minded!” Scorchfur spat out.

Cloverfoot flinched despite herself. “What does that—”

“You’ve always been stronger than either of your littermates. Always.” Her father’s eyes burned with anger, though his claws stayed sheathed. “You can’t fool me. There’s more to this than concern for cats _suffering_ , or a curiosity about the will of StarClan. You’re every bit the warrior I am. _Act_ like it. Tell me what you _really_ think.”

Cloverfoot shut her eyes.

_Stonewing’s tail brushed her flank as they stepped through the long grass. The eyes of four Clans were upon them, and she did her best to ignore their murmurs as she followed Juniperclaw around the island clearing’s edge._

_She had no idea if word of her doubts had reached Tigerstar’s ears, but if the large tabby knew what she’d told Slatefur and Sparrowtail, he hadn’t said anything. Her name had slipped as easily from his mouth as Scorchfur’s and Strikestone’s when he’d decided which cats would accompany him to the impromptu meeting. She had nodded, making sure to give every indication that she was honored to be part of the Clan retinue for such an important Gathering._

_“We are_ warriors _!” Tigerstar growled, his voice crashing down from the Great Oak._

_Beside her, Stonewing seemed to grow taller, his fur spiking proudly as he puffed out his chest and took up the chant. “We are warriors! We are warriors!”_

_Juniperclaw lashed his tail, his eyes glimmering eagerly. “We are warriors!”_

_Tawnypelt. “We are warriors!”_

_As each of her Clanmates rallied to their leader in turn, Cloverfoot felt herself stiffen. Her paws felt rooted to the ground beneath. She willed her jaws to open, to join in the chant even if for no other reason than to reassure her Clanmates of her loyalty. But her muzzle was clamped shut. It would not open._

_A chill crept over her pelt. She waited for one of them to notice, to turn on her, hissing, and denounce her betrayal. But none of the other ShadowClan cats so much as flicked a whisker in her direction. Their eyes were fixed on their leader, and his on the mass of cats now staring up at him in horror._

What has ShadowClan become? _she thought desperately._ What is my place in it? Have we rebuilt our Clan only to see it become _this_? _The chant died down, but her disquiet remained._

Her eyes snapped back open before Scorchfur could close his jaws.

“I think Tigerstar was _wrong_!” she hissed, thrusting her muzzle into his face. “He was wrong to pretend that unprovoked aggression was the best way for our Clan to make its point, and he shouldn’t have needed a medicine cat or a storm to tell him this was a mistake!” The cold that had permeated her bones at the Gathering was nowhere to be found; in its place a fire had ignited deep in her belly.

Scorchfur drew his lips back in a sneer. “And have you told Tigerstar this? Have you told our leader that he and his deputy were _wrong_ to fight for the prey ShadowClan needs?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cloverfoot took a step to the side, circling around the dark gray warrior. “I’m not foolish enough to think I can change Tigerstar’s mind by myself.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” His eyes followed her as she continued to pace. “But let’s say I believe you.” He blinked, his eyes still slitted. “Why approach _me_ about this?”

The answer burst forth from her mouth immediately. “Because I need you to see that I’m right!” At once, she knew it was true. This was why she hadn’t asked Cinnamonpaw for help. _I wanted—_ needed _—to know what Scorchfur thinks._ Despite what she’d told herself earlier, her father’s barbed tongue had always been an inescapable part of her life. After so many nights of avoiding this argument, its absence had grated on her without her realizing it. _I needed him to challenge what I thought._

She waited for his rebuttal, for his harsh laugh that she was anything but _right_.

Instead Scorchfur paused, regarding her curiously with his amber gaze. Then he sat back onto his haunches, beginning to lick his back fur complacently, smoothing the remaining rainwater out of his pelt with swift strokes.

Cloverfoot gaped. Her mind twisting with confusion, she tried to gather herself enough to put together the words needed to even begin to question what he was doing. But within moments, he’d returned to his paws, giving his whole body another good shake. Small droplets flew out of his pelt as he shook his head in an eerily calm manner.

“No,” Scorchfur said. He sounded almost amused. “You don’t.”

“Of course I do!” she snarled. “You saw to that. Even when I was a _kit_ I could see that you argued with Snowbird over every little thing. And the older my littermates and I got, the more you argued with _us_ , too.” Frustration burned in her chest. “It’s your fault I can’t forget about this.”

He tipped his head. “You think the only reason you’re so strong-willed is because of _me_? That’s absurd.” She began to bristle with indignation, but he continued before she could interrupt. “Snowbird would tell me about how inspired you were before you had even reached two moons. You’re doing yourself a disservice by saying these things. You were _always_ a confident cat.”

“What I mean is right _now_ ,” he meowed, flicking an ear in Cloverfoot’s direction. “This incident with SkyClan. You don’t need my opinion on it. You may think you do—and perhaps that much _is_ my fault—but what you _need_ is to make up your _own_ mind.”

“What?” Her spine tingled as she heard his words, entirely confused as to what he meant. “I _have_ made up my mind. I know that Tigerstar was wrong.”

Scorchfur snorted again, and she could see a trace of his usual edge returning to his eyes. “Then why have you done absolutely _nothing_ with that opinion?” His tail started to lash from side to side, and his fur spiked. This was the father she knew well: Brash and unsympathetic.

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed what you were doing?” he roared. “Did you think _Snowbird_ hadn’t noticed?”

“What in StarClan’s _name_ are you talking about?” Cloverfoot mewed through gritted teeth. Her own fur, still steadily drying, was pricking as well. _Will he just tell me, already?_

“You’ve stayed as far away from the center of things as possible. You were talking with Slatefur and Sparrowtail, and I _know_ Sparrowtail, at least, won’t have agreed with you about SkyClan. But you don’t seem to have changed his mind! And you don’t even care!”

“Of course I—”

“And then,” he mewed sternly, “you spent as much time as you could helping the medicine cats with their duties. While the rest of the Clan was out on patrols, you were gathering herbs, like you’re doing _right now_. Why is that?”

“Because,” she growled, her tail now lashing as fast as his, “I enjoy the work.”

“Fox dung. If you cared about herbs so much, you would’ve signed up to be a medicine cat when you were a kit. Littlecloud wouldn’t have been able to refuse you.” Scorchfur’s eyes glowed contemptuously. “Maybe you started to take a liking to the task after a while. But that’s not the point. Talking to the other warriors, helping Puddleshine, talking to _me_ about the storm—everything you’ve done has been about what _other_ cats think. That’s not who you are. You’ve carved your own path since before you were apprenticed. What made you stop now?”

Cloverfoot’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She kept her muzzle raised, her gaze matched with his, but the fire had already gone out of her. _He’s right. I’ve been… reactive._ “I… I don’t know.”

Without a second glance Scorchfur brushed past her, stepping out from under the rowan’s canopy and into the downpour. “Then you might want to figure that out.”

Bewildered, she spun around to see him head down the forested slope again, his gray coat already slick with rainwater again. “Wait! What?”

He paused, turning his head back around towards her. “We still need the borage, don’t we?”

A low purr escaped Cloverfoot’s throat. _Of course. He unloads that much criticism onto me, and then expects me to carry on as if nothing’s happened. What else did I expect?_ Fluffing out her fur against the cold, she padded forward, following her father back out into the storm.

**Chapter 7**

The ShadowClan camp was packed. More cats than Cloverfoot had ever seen at a single Gathering were crowding into the dens, the clearing, and any other space they could find. Most were standing warily together with others from their Clan, but she could make out a few mixed-Clan groups forming amidst the chaos. Willowshine had found her way over to the medicine den, and with Puddleshine was tending to the various minor injuries that the storm had inflicted. Gorsetail was in the nursery, the experienced queen helping to keep ShadowClan’s kits from getting under every cat’s paws.

A golden pelt pushed past Cloverfoot, throwing off her balance slightly as its muscular owner plodded across the still-damp earth. She swung her muzzle around, meeting the other cat’s gaze with annoyance. “Watch it!” she hissed.

Lionblaze’s amber eyes widened, and he blinked apologetically. Hesitating, the ThunderClan tom resumed his course across the camp, cautiously trying not to bump into anyone else as he headed to greet Molewhisker and Lilyheart.

Huffing, Cloverfoot gave her chest fur a few licks, then continued to survey the camp. The torrent of wind and rain had finally come to an end, and every cat was more than glad to be done with the soaked pelts and bone-chilling cold—but the mess of cats filling up every tail-length of the camp was only marginally less annoying. _I almost miss the storm._

SkyClan had returned. Leafstar had led her warriors through the camp’s thorn tunnel earlier that day just as the last few clouds cleared from the newleaf sky. Their fur was soaked and filthy, but their heads were held high, and their eyes sparked with determination. It was clear that they were far more willing to fight for their place beside the lake than they had been when they left nearly a quarter moon ago.

If Leafstar had been expecting a fight, though, she had been disappointed. Tigerstar, his conviction already shaken by Juniperclaw’s confession that morning of his cowardly attempt to poison SkyClan’s prey, had immediately offered to let SkyClan rest in the ShadowClan camp for the rest of the day. The two leaders had then agreed to hold yet another emergency Gathering that night, so that all the Clans could reach a permanent solution to the question of where SkyClan should live.

A fishy tang snaked into Cloverfoot’s nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose, spotting Lizardtail of RiverClan sitting beside the warriors’ den. _If only it had been_ just _SkyClan._ Without ShadowClan’s knowledge, a patrol made up of cats from the other three Clans had departed the lake several sunrises ago, aiming to find SkyClan and convince them to return. Their quest successful, the patrol had arrived at ShadowClan’s camp alongside SkyClan, and its cats had yet to return to their respective camps. Cloverfoot had been entirely unsurprised to learn that the patrol had been ThunderClan’s idea. _What other Clan would have felt it was their duty to meddle like that?_

Just to make the situation even more uncomfortable, it transpired that Leafstar had dispatched some of her warriors to the other Clans even before arriving on ShadowClan land, asking their leaders to send cats to ShadowClan to support SkyClan’s claim. And so, not long after SkyClan’s return, a small group of warriors from ThunderClan, WindClan, and RiverClan had emerged through the thorn tunnel, with Squirrelflight and Nightcloud in the lead. Cloverfoot could have sworn she saw Tigerstar’s claws unsheathe for the briefest moment when he greeted the latest arrivals.

Her leader had since sent out several hunting patrols; the Clan would need more prey than usual to make it through the day now that their camp was overflowing with cats. Hawkwing had also sent some SkyClan cats to hunt the territory, with Tigerstar’s cautious permission. Now the great tabby’s tail lashed again from the Pinebranch, and Cloverfoot turned to hear him speak.

“Whorlpelt. Strikestone.” His voice rang out clearly, and the two toms he had named perked up their ears. “Please escort our guests from ThunderClan back to their own territory, and return with them to their camp. Inform Bramblestar that we must hold a Gathering tonight, to decide SkyClan’s fate.”

Beside him, Leafstar twitched an ear, but said nothing. Nearby, Cloverfoot heard the SkyClan warriors Bellaleaf and Plumwillow exchange murmured words. She guessed Leafstar might not be happy with the way Tigerstar had talked about SkyClan as if they weren’t present.

Strikestone nodded, and quickly walked over to where Squirrelflight rested beside the apprentices’ den. Meeting the brown tom’s gaze, the ThunderClan deputy began to round up her cats from across the camp. Meanwhile, Whorlpelt ducked into the medicine den to fetch Alderheart, his white-and-gray pelt vanishing under the brambles.

Tigerstar turned his attention to Stonewing next. “The WindClan camp. Take the same message to Harestar and Mistystar.” The white warrior blinked his acknowledgment, and began to scan the crowd for Nightcloud, spotting her black pelt near the camp entrance. RiverClan, Cloverfoot knew, had been sheltering at WindClan's camp for several days, ever since their own territory had been consumed by floodwaters in the storm.

“Snowbird!” Tigerstar called. “Go with him.” Cloverfoot’s mother dipped her head and padded to join Stonewing.

A cool breeze rippled across Cloverfoot’s fur, and she suddenly felt the need to stretch her legs. She raised her muzzle to address Tigerstar. “I could go with them, as well,” she offered. “The trip to the WindClan camp is longer, and they’ll be escorting more cats there. It would be helpful to send more ShadowClan warriors.”

The massive tabby frowned. “Thank you, Cloverfoot, but that won’t be necessary. I’m sure Stonewing and Snowbird can carry a simple message.”

“You don’t need to worry about us,” Snowbird purred. Podlight and Willowshine had made their way to her side, and the white she-cat stiffened, seemingly trying to edge away from the RiverClan cats’ pelts. Cloverfoot twitched her whiskers in amusement; her mother didn’t enjoy their stench any more than she did.

“That will be all for now,” Tigerstar finished, his shoulders relaxing. “Every ShadowClan cat is to treat SkyClan with respect for the rest of the day. They are welcome to our camp and our prey.” Leafstar rolled her eyes, but the ShadowClan leader didn’t seem to notice, making ready to jump down from the branch.

Then he stopped, blinking as if he had remembered something. “Cloverfoot.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine as Tigerstar called her name. Something in his tone unnerved her. “Yes, Tigerstar?”

“Meet me in my den.”

Across the camp, eyes turned in her direction, and not just those of the ShadowClan cats. Before she’d finished digesting his words, the Clan leader had already leapt off the Pinebranch, and was turning to duck inside the bramble den just beneath it.

Composing herself and ensuring that the fur across her shoulders was as flat as she could reasonably hope for it to be, Cloverfoot quickly trotted over to the den entrance. Without pausing, she pushed her way through the ferns.

Her heart seemed to beat a bit faster as she entered, though she’d been inside Tigerstar’s den before. It was underneath a bramble thicket like any of the others in the camp, but somehow she felt like she was experiencing something new. _It feels important, stepping paw in here now._ But she couldn’t say why.

Her thoughts fled as she met Tigerstar’s gaze. His eyes appeared to glow brighter in the solitude of the den, even compared to when he’d summoned her family to meet him moons ago.

“You’re aware of what the SkyClan cats reported about Juniperclaw?” he meowed, wasting no time.

She nodded solemnly. “Of course. He drowned saving Violetshine’s life. He sacrificed himself for one of the cats he’d tried to drive out just days earlier.” Her throat grew dry. “They said that he wanted them to tell you he was sorry.”

“I know.” The ShadowClan leader leaned forward, a hunger she couldn’t quite name the source of in his eyes. “He was my mistake. I chose him as deputy because I believed he would have learned strength from his time with the rogues. Not the kind of strength that wins battles, but the kind that prevents them.” He blinked. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Which brings us to you.” His mew grew stronger, and Cloverfoot felt something spark in her chest, something born of both fear and excitement.

“Me,” she said, her voice neutral. “Are you about to say that I possess such a strength?”

Tigerstar flicked his tail. “Don’t you? You certainly have enough courage to guess what your Clan leader is going to say.” He purred energetically. “Scorchfur has spoken to me, as one of my senior warriors. So has Tawnypelt. Your actions in this last half-moon have not gone unnoticed.”

 _So he’s disappointed in me, just as Scorchfur was._ “I understand that you may not approve of how I chose to spend my time,” she began, her fur pricking ever so slightly. “But in light of the recent events with SkyClan—”

He cut her off, tail thumping briefly on the firm den floor. “You misunderstand. I have no problem with your behavior. I’m proud of how you found a way to help your Clan even though you disagreed with the path it was taking.” The ShadowClan leader stiffened, and drew himself up to his full height. “That’s why I’d like to ask you to be ShadowClan’s new deputy.”

Cloverfoot’s head spun. The strange sensation in her chest flared, but remained just as inscrutable. Every hair on her pelt tingled as she opened her mouth to speak, finding the wherewithal to reply quicker than she would have thought possible. “You want to make me deputy… because I was _gathering herbs?_ ”

“I want to make you deputy… because you found the strength to defy your Clan leader when he ordered you to do something you knew was not right.” Tigerstar’s mew was eager, but steady, carrying no trace of doubt. “Because you had the courage to follow the warrior code even when your Clan forgot it.” He sat back again, his shoulders rippling. “And because, lest you forget, I saw you with Rippletail and the others when you were living in that old Twoleg den. I know that you were the one who kept your small group going for so many moons, and I suspect that if I asked Sparrowtail who was the most determined to carry me back to the lake, your name would come up right after Dovewing’s.”

She stared at him hard. “Tigerstar, I haven’t even trained an apprentice.”

Her leader sniffed and drew a paw back over his ears. “You managed three other cats for several moons in unfamiliar territory. That’s given you all the experience you need.”

“So I’m the best cat to choose as deputy of ShadowClan. You’re certain.” Something in his words was buzzing through her mind, dredging up old memories. _Lest I forget…_

“Entirely.” Another flick of his tail. “I know Tawnypelt will turn me down if I ask her. She’s tried that before, twice. It won’t work. _You_ are what ShadowClan needs. You’re younger than me, and you’ve proven you have the moral qualities a deputy needs if they are ever to become leader someday.”

The errant thought found its resting place, and Cloverfoot knew what she had to do. Blinking at Tigerstar with round eyes, she asked, “Can I have some time to think about it?”

“If you feel that’s necessary,” he said, dipping his head. “But don’t take long. You know that I must appoint a new deputy before moonhigh, and I intend to announce my choice at the Gathering tonight.”

“I’ll let you know my answer as soon as possible,” she promised, her tail beginning to swish through the air. She shuffled her front paws for a moment as she waited for his acknowledgment. Then he twitched his tail, dismissing her, and she turned swiftly to exit the den, trying to ignore the feeling of his gaze on the back of her pelt.

Her tail brushed clear of the ferns hanging over the den entrance, and she was outside. Immediately she headed for the thorn tunnel. Her paws picked up speed. Too preoccupied in her own mind to pay attention to any cats—ShadowClan or SkyClan—that might be watching, Cloverfoot darted through the camp exit, firmly set on her destination.

**Chapter 8**

The mouse’s squeal was quickly cut off as Slatefur gave a sharp nip to the back of its neck. The sleek-furred tom purred with satisfaction, sheathing his claws and picking up the small, furry body by its tail.

Behind him, Grassheart let out a small purr as well. “That was fast.”

Slatefur swung his head around, tilting it slightly. “You think so? I stalked it for a good while before I pounced.”

“I meant _overall_ ,” she mewed, tail waving. “That’s your third catch today.”

He dipped his head, giving his chest fur a few brief licks. “I’ve just been lucky. Prey’s much easier to find now that the storm’s let up.”

It was true that he’d already caught another mouse and a squirrel besides, while Grassheart had only managed a small vole. The tabby she-cat was clearly still recovering from the injury she’d sustained during SkyClan’s ambush, and Puddleshine had only let her out of the medicine den a few days ago.

He raised his muzzle again, meeting her pale green gaze cautiously. _I don’t want her to feel bad. She’s done her best._

To his relief, her eyes shone with contentment, no trace of shame in them. “Let’s get back to camp,” she decided, her mew calm. “ShadowClan _and_ SkyClan will be waiting for more fresh-kill. Hopefully Tigerstar will have sent the other Clans’ warriors home by now.”

Together they returned to where they had buried their other catches, retrieving them before beginning the walk back to ShadowClan camp, the prey swinging from their jaws. Slatefur’s pelt was bushed out happily, and not just because the torrential rain had ended. He liked hunting with Grassheart. As Spikefur’s littermate, she was the closest kin he and Puddleshine had left, and she was easy to get along with.

He’d never raised the subject of his father with her. It simply wasn’t something she wanted to discuss, he knew. _She remembers Spikefur the way I remember Birchbark and Lioneye, playing together as kits in the nursery. She doesn’t want to think too much about how he betrayed us._ He could respect that.

Soon they filed through the thorn tunnel into the still-muddy clearing. Nodding at the SkyClan warrior Sandynose, who was eyeing them shrewdly, Slatefur padded over to the fresh-kill pile, depositing his catch as beside him Grassheart did the same.

As they walked away from the pile, she jerked her muzzle towards the apprentices’ den. “I’ve promised Gullpaw some battle training with the SkyClan apprentices today. Care to join us?”

His ears perked up. “That sounds like a great idea! I’ll go fetch Frondpaw. She’s clearing out the elders’ bedding.”

He found his apprentice carrying a wad of moss out of the elders’ den, the bundle tucked tightly underneath her chin. When she caught sight of him, she blinked in greeting, not able to open her mouth without spilling the moss. He flicked an ear at her and sat back onto his haunches, waiting for her to finish with the task.

She took the moss out through the tunnel and returned shortly afterwards, blue eyes wide. “Slatefur? Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” he said reassuringly. “Are you almost finished here?”

Frondpaw nodded her head vigorously. “That was the last nest. Antpaw already brought in fresh bedding just a little while ago, so all I had to do was take out the old stuff.”

“Good. How would you like to practice your battle moves against the SkyClan apprentices?”

Her whiskers twitched uncertainly, and she seemed to hesitate. “Against another Clan? Are you sure?”

“You’re more than ready. And if you aren’t, you’ll learn a lot from seeing how another Clan fights.” He held his breath, daring to hope that she would be convinced.

A small shudder seemed to ripple down the apprentice’s gray tabby coat, and then she nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you think.”

 _That’s about as much as I can hope for_ , Slatefur mused. “We’ll wait for Grassheart to fetch Gullpaw. It was their idea.” He licked his shoulder casually. “I actually don’t even know which SkyClan apprentices you’ll be fighting.”

A few moments passed in silence as they waited. Slatefur broke his gaze away from the apprentices’ den, from which Grassheart had yet to emerge, and glanced at Frondpaw’s face curiously. Her eyes were shadowed—not with the self-disappointment she usually exhibited, but with something resembling discomfort, or frustration.

“Do you know why Cloverfoot was upset?” she blurted out, finally breaking the calm a heartbeat later.

He tipped his head, tail flicking with confusion. “Cloverfoot? What do you mean?”

Frondpaw jerked her muzzle towards the thorn tunnel. “Just before you got here, when I was coming back into the camp from taking out the moss, I passed Cloverfoot on my way in through the entrance.” The apprentice fidgeted with her front paws. “She was going out, and she seemed… troubled, I guess. Her fur was all spiked up, and there was fear-scent coming off her. She didn’t notice me, even though I said hi to her.”

His tail curled, and an ominous twinge of fear jabbed into his stomach. “Did you ask any other cat if anything had happened to upset her?”

The gray she-cat blinked. “I haven’t _talked_ to any other cat. I’ve been taking out the moss. I thought you might know because you and Cloverfoot are such good friends.”

The hollow feeling in Slatefur’s stomach grew, sending a jolt down the fur along his spine. _Such good friends…_ He’d grown close to Cloverfoot during the troubles with the Kin, and in the brief time he’d traveled with Tigerheart’s group on the way back to the lake. But in his heart, he’d never thought of himself and Cloverfoot as a close _pair_ of friends. Even after all these moons, he realized, he still thought of their relationship as just one part of a slightly larger dynamic. He knew that both of them, without consciously acknowledging it, had always considered there to be something missing from their lives. Something… or some _one_.

“I know where she’s going,” he murmured, fear lacing his mew. “StarClan, _no_.”

“What?” Frondpaw’s mew held no hesitation, only bewilderment. “What’s going on?”

“Stay here,” he ordered, already getting to his paws. His gray fur had spiked out all over his pelt.

“Where are you going?”

Slatefur ignored her, already running for the thorn tunnel as fast as his paws could carry him. _I have to stop her. I promised._

_We’ve finally found our peace. I won’t let her ruin Rippletail’s._

**Chapter 9**

The Twolegplace had confounded her, to say the least. Every few moments, a monster sped past, its eyes gleaming with hunger and a low roar spilling out of its belly. Faint cat scents were detectable—in fact, they were common—but it was nearly impossible to distinguish between them, or track them with any efficiency, underneath the overwhelmingly prevalent Twoleg stench. The sound of dogs yapping from so many of the dens was enough to make any cat’s fur stand on end.

Cloverfoot twitched her tail, irritated with her own inability to navigate the area. She’d seen small Twolegplaces before, during her time away from the Clans. She’d slept in an abandoned Twoleg den with the others for moons. But she had been completely unprepared for the totality of the Twolegplace near the lake, to say nothing of its size. Thunderpaths stretched as far as she could see, with countless dens lining them in eerily neat rows. With the end of the storm, plenty of Twolegs were wandering about in the open, clearly as happy to see the sun once more as the Clans had been. She was forced to keep to bushes and narrow gaps between dens in order to avoid being seen.

 _This was supposed to be easy._ She imagined how Scorchfur would have laughed if he’d heard that. _Mouse-brain. Of course finding your way around a Twolegplace wasn’t going to be easy!_ Her plan had been to simply search for Rippletail’s scent, then trace it back to his den. It would be just like locating a rabbit’s burrow to chase it out.

Once she’d realized that that was never going to work, she’d tried asking kittypets if they knew where she might find him. But most had wanted nothing to do with a Clan cat; some unsheathed their claws as they explained this. The few that had been willing to help had been completely unhelpful. One ginger tom had tried to pounce on her with an eager screech, and had crashed into a fence instead.

A rumble from the Twoleg den she was passing made her flinch. Quickly she darted across its territory to the shelter of a holly bush, eyes wide and gray pelt bushed out with fear. From within her hiding place she watched in horror as the den’s pale wall slid up and vanished into its roof, opening up a large, dark entrance. An instant later a small yellow monster crept out and slid onto the Thunderpath. It sped off, growling intermittently.

Slowly, Cloverfoot emerged from the bush, trying to make the fur across her shoulders lie flat. Giving up after a few half-hearted licks, she resumed her aimless course through the Twoleg maze, beginning to despair of ever locating her littermate.

Then she remembered who had found Rippletail here in the first place. Puddleshine had told them that it was Alderheart who had stumbled into the white tom, and reported it to the other medicine cats. Her gaze darting from one Twoleg den to the next, Cloverfoot tried to imagine what that might mean. _If I were a dumb, well-meaning ThunderClan medicine cat, where would I go?_ She didn’t know what in StarClan the dark ginger tom had been doing in the Twolegplace to begin with, but chances were that he would have had no more ease navigating it than she.

 _What if Alderheart was looking for herbs?_ It wouldn’t have been the first strange place she’d known a medicine cat to search. Puddleshine’s injury in the last moon had been due to the brown-and-white tom’s carelessness while trying to reach a patch of borage leaves underneath the silverthorn.

Lifting her muzzle, Cloverfoot parted her jaws, trying to taste the air for any hint of healing herbs in the Twoleg-infested area. _If this works, all the time I’ve spent running errands for Puddleshine will have been worth it._

Shock flared through her pelt. Right away she’d caught the unmistakable tang of thyme. It was the very first herb Alderheart had taught her to identify that night in the medicine den, what felt like moons ago. Eyes narrowing, she began to pad cautiously in the direction of the scent. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

The trail led her across a large strip of Thunderpath, and down a row of short, white dens. Each one was bordered by a short fence, and from the other side Cloverfoot could smell wet grass and a few faint flowers. The smell of thyme was getting closer; it was only a few more dens away, she was sure.

Her whiskers twitching, she leapt up onto the fence. From her higher vantage point, she could see the end of the narrow Thunderpath she’d been following, where a wall of bushes stretched across the way. She leaned forward and walked slowly along the fence to the next den, scanning the gardens ahead for any sign of herbs.

Then she froze. Turning her head mid-step, she gazed down at the garden right beside her. Her pelt began to spike out all over, like frozen pine needles from the harshest leaf-bare to ever hit ShadowClan territory. Inexpressible shock slammed through her chest, and she felt her throat tighten.

Brilliant blue eyes to match her own stared back from the grass below.

Her paws seemed to move on their own as she jumped gently down from the fence. Not daring to approach, she stayed where she was, motionless on all four paws, her tail raised hesitantly.

The other cat’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. For a few painful moments she stared across the grass, her gray tabby fur ruffled by a soft breeze, and waited for him to speak.

 _But waiting will get me nowhere._ It was a truth she’d known her whole life.

“Rippletail,” Cloverfoot mewed, feeling her voice ache with three moons of regret.

Across from her, her brother gaped, his long white fur bushing out. The sight of him sent shivers of nostalgia running through her pelt, but the feeling vanished in an instant when she moved her gaze down: Around his neck, partially hidden by thick fur, was a slender blue collar. _I don’t even recognize his scent anymore._

Rippletail spun around, leaping towards the Twoleg den. 

“Wait!” she cried out, forcing herself not to chase after him. “Please.” Her mew was barely a whisper. “Please wait.”

The white tom paused just in front of the den entrance, where a small gap set just above the ground seemed to be the right size for a cat to pass through. His tail quivered in the air and his whole body seemed to shake. Cloverfoot stared at the back of his head, silently begging for him to turn back around. _Please._

Slowly Rippletail turned his head back to face her. Her heart plummeted as she gazed into her brother’s eyes. Shadows of fear flickered through them, and she knew it wasn’t the monsters or the Twolegs that had hurt him. _It was me._

“Cloverfoot.”

Her own paws shook at the sound of his voice. Her ears seemed to defy the rest of her senses; his mew hadn’t changed at all.

“I looked for you,” she said, the words spilling clumsily out of her mouth. _He’s here. I found him._ “We all did, back at the pond. We… we didn’t know what happened to you.”

The white tom took a few hesitant steps forward, paws landing softly on the neatly-trimmed grass. “And now you’ve finally found me?” he asked, the words trembling with uncertainty. “So you can bring me back to ShadowClan?”

“You _have_ to come back. Our parents—they’re well, and Yarrowleaf has had a litter of kits—we have kin you haven’t even met, Rippletail!” The desperation in her voice echoed his own, and she felt her pelt shake. “ _Please_.”

The former warrior’s eyes seemed to swirl with panic, and his claws unsheathed for a brief moment. “I can’t ever be a part of the Clans again. I _can’t_. Not after—”

Determination slid down Cloverfoot’s spine. “Don’t say Heronwing. That’s in the past. It’s not who you are. You will _always_ belong with ShadowClan.” She refused to let him dwell on past mistakes. _If he can just see past his guilt…_

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to me,” she tried, meeting his gaze hopefully. She took a cautious step towards her littermate, relieved when he didn’t flinch away. “When you left, I mean. Me, or any of us. I’m sure Berryheart would have been willing to listen. And Slatefur—”

Rippletail shook his head frantically, his eyes squeezed shut. The small trinket hanging from his collar sparkled as it caught the sunlight, jangling back and forth. “No!” he pleaded. “Don’t say his name.”

The tension coating her pelt only worsened, but she pressed on. “Slatefur would have known what to say. He can help you, and I know he’ll be glad to see you again.” Doubt clouded into her mind, and she pushed it away. _I have to do this._

Her brother’s tail began to lash frantically, and Cloverfoot realized that he was still trembling, more fiercely than before. His paws tore at the grass, but he made no move toward the Twoleg nest. It was as though she could see the indecision and fear in his eyes reverberating throughout his whole body, paralyzing him.

She began to pad forward again, crossing the last small stretch of grass between them. _Please, Rippletail. Please believe me._

“ _No!_ ”

The cry startled her, and instinctively she stopped mid-stride, turning towards its source. But she’d recognized the voice immediately, and didn’t need to see the cat who had spoken to know that something was about to go horribly wrong.

Slatefur stood atop the garden fence, his pelt silhouetted by the setting sun. The tom’s green eyes blazed with horror, and Cloverfoot felt her pelt prick defensively as he leapt down towards them.

“Slatefur?” Rippletail gasped, his mew shot through with terror.

Panic flared in Cloverfoot’s stomach, resisting her attempts to stay calm. “What are you doing here?” she asked, paws tingling uneasily. “How did you find—?”

“I followed your scent trail. What are _you_ doing here?” the gray warrior snarled, his ears drawn back. His pelt was spiked with an aggression she’d never seen in him before. “We agreed to leave him _alone_!”

She shifted her paws, trying to find the words to explain. _I know I’m right. Rippletail has to come back to the Clan._ But her Clanmate’s baleful stare seemed to be clamping her throat closed. The deep, insistent _need_ she had felt, the drive that had brought her to the Twolegplace, was fading away, replaced only by uncertainty.

Beside her, Rippletail shifted, letting out a small murmur of surprise. “You… _agreed_ on what to do?” he asked, tipping his head. His eyes clouded over, now looking more hurt than afraid as he jerked his muzzle towards Slatefur accusingly. “You _told_ them?”

Bewilderment spread through Cloverfoot’s pelt. “Slatefur didn’t tell us you were here,” she mewed, her chest still prickling with an uncomfortable foreboding. “Puddleshine did. Alderheart talked with all the medicine cats after he saw you.”

Then she caught the alarmed expression on Slatefur’s face. All the anger had drained away, and the gray tom’s gaze was panicked as he looked back and forth between her and Rippletail. He lifted a paw off the ground hesitantly, as if struggling with the same inability to speak that had just afflicted her.

At once the full truth of what Rippletail had said sank into Cloverfoot’s mind. She whirled on Slatefur, tail lashing with disbelief. “You _knew_.”

“I didn’t—you don’t understand,” Slatefur gasped. “Please. I didn’t know he was _here_.”

But it was her turn to be overcome with fury. “You knew that Rippletail was leaving, and you didn’t even try to stop him? You didn’t think his _kin_ deserved to know more than you did?” Rage poured through every inch of her body, making her spine quake. _I thought he was my friend!_ She took a few deliberate steps towards the ShadowClan warrior, her claws unsheathed. “You fox-hearted traitor!” she hissed.

“Cloverfoot. Wait.” Rippletail stepped towards her, his mew more forceful than before. “I asked Slatefur not to tell anyone else. It wasn’t his fault.”

She growled, narrowing her eyes at both toms. The sense of calm she’d felt in the small garden had crumbled away. It was as though she had stepped onto another Clan’s territory. “So you didn’t care if we grieved when we lost you, Rippletail?” Her littermate’s deep blue eyes were petrified with sorrow and regret, but Cloverfoot suddenly found that she didn’t care. Voice swelling with distaste, she swung her muzzle back towards him. “Did you think it was easy for me and Berryheart to tell our parents that you disappeared _one day_ before making it back to see them?”

“That’s not fair.” Slatefur blinked at her. Some confidence was returning to the way he carried himself; his shoulders were squared assertively. “Rippletail was worried that if he told you before he went, you’d force him to stay. You were so determined to return to ShadowClan that he thought you wouldn’t have respected his choice to—”

“That’s nonsense,” she hissed, anger sizzling on her pelt. “Neither of you was willing to _talk_ about this problem Rippletail had instead of just running away from it! Perhaps he doesn’t belong in ShadowClan after all! And,” she added, turning back to Slatefur, “do you think Tigerstar will let _you_ stay when he finds out that you kept this secret from the entire Clan?”

“You wouldn’t tell him,” Slatefur said, eyes narrowed and tail flicking. “It wouldn’t do anyone any good at this point. It would only cause more pain, for everyone.”

The sense of betrayal festering in Cloverfoot’s mind erupted into hate. “You’d deserve it!” She sprang towards him, claws outstretched.

A blur of gray tabby fur streaked down from the fence, landing directly in her path. Shocked, Cloverfoot stumbled, snagging a claw painfully on the ground as she skidded to a halt.

“What—do you think—you’re _doing_?!” the new arrival panted, blue eyes blazing. “All of you! You’re supposed to be _Clanmates_!”

Her appalled cry rang through the garden unbroken for several heartbeats. Cloverfoot saw Slatefur’s green eyes round in a disbelieving stupor as they both recognized the cat in front of them. The sleek-furred tom opened his mouth, a question forming in his expression.

“I tracked your scent trail here from the camp,” Frondpaw explained, turning to her mentor before he could ask. “It was hard to miss both yours and Cloverfoot’s following the same path.”

Slatefur grunted with disapproval. “I told you to stay behind. This is between me and Cloverfoot.”

His apprentice shook her head calmly, determination in her gaze. “You were giving off just as much fear-scent as Cloverfoot was. Whatever’s going on is making _both_ of you scared and irrational.”

 _I’ve been more than irrational_ , Cloverfoot admitted to herself, embarrassment making her pelt grow hot. _I nearly attacked Slatefur. What’s_ wrong _with me?_ She licked at her injured paw, trying to distract herself.

“That doesn’t make it any of your business,” Slatefur meowed sternly. “You’re not wrong. Things did get a bit… over-excited. But you don’t _know_ what’s going on here.”

Frondpaw rolled her eyes. “Of course I do.” The young tabby hesitated for a moment, then padded across the garden to where Rippletail stood.

The white tom had stayed quiet all throughout the exchange. He looked at her, traces of distrust still lingering in his eyes… and then he nodded. “Do you know who I am?” His mew was cautious.

“You’re Rippletail,” Frondpaw said, her eyes sparkling with delight. “You’re my brother, from Snowbird’s first litter. You were Cloverfoot and Berryheart’s littermate.”

Rippletail’s expression softened, and his tail lowered gently. “I remember. You’re Frondkit,” he murmured. “Or… I suppose you’re probably Frond _paw_ now. You were still in the nursery when I last saw you.” He blinked. “Yes, I was their littermate.”

“You still _are_ ,” Cloverfoot pleaded with him. “You always will be.”

He turned to her again, his eyes glowing with love. “And you’ll always be my sister. But this is my home now. And I know that it’s right for me.”

His mew was kind. It didn’t ring with the strength of a warrior, but was infused with a simple certainty that made her paws shake. _He’s found a life that’s better for him._ It felt like a defeat to admit it, but she knew nothing she could say would change his mind.

She cast her gaze downward. “I understand,” she said softly. “I’ll miss you. We all will. I’ll—I’ll tell our parents—”

He thrust his muzzle forward, nuzzling her cheek. The sudden burst of affection caught her off guard, and she remained frozen for a moment. Then she felt her fur relax, and she closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of her brother’s love. White fur and gray, they circled around each other, each pressing against the other’s flank. Rippletail’s scent had changed, but buried somewhere underneath it, Cloverfoot could almost swear, she could still make out the familiar odor of a ShadowClan warrior. _Almost._

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you and Slatefur. I know you did what you thought was best for you.”

He gave a quick lick to the fur atop her head and drew back. Gazing into his blue eyes, so like her own, Cloverfoot knew he understood.

Turning to Slatefur, she dipped her head, noting that his sleek fur was no longer spiked with agitation. “If you can ever forgive me—”

He cut her off. “I _did_ keep the truth from you.” The warrior’s ears flicked as he spoke. “I lied to you, and Berryheart, and everyone. I did what _I_ thought was best, too, and I knew it wasn’t fair to every cat.” He sounded satisfied, and he stepped closer to Cloverfoot, brushing his tail along her side. “If all that came of it was a short argument and no fur off my pelt… I think I’ve gotten off pretty easily.”

“It wasn’t fair to any cat, including _you_ ,” Rippletail said. He shook himself out, his white coat glossy—from Twoleg grooming, Cloverfoot assumed. “But… ”

“But if every cat keeps blaming themself for everything, we’ll never be able to move on,” Frondpaw volunteered.

Slatefur nudged his apprentice’s flank gently with his paw. “When did you become so wise?”

She blinked, startled, as if just realizing herself how unusually bold she’d been. “I… I don’t know. It just seemed obvious.”

He gave her a quick lick over the ear, then turned back to address Rippletail and Cloverfoot. “I… I think that’s everything.” His paws shifted in the soft grass, and Cloverfoot knew that her friend couldn’t bring himself to say what he really meant. _We’re done here. It’s time to go back to the lake… and leave Rippletail behind again._ Deep inside her chest, something twinged at the notion, something other than sadness at losing her littermate. Her tail curled with discomfort.

“Cloverfoot.” Rippletail had padded quietly to her side again. His mew was soft. “Is something else wrong?”

“I—I don’t know.” She blinked, realizing that they were all staring at her, their gazes worried. Her paws buckled, and she sank down onto the grass, the blades cool against her belly fur.

Quickly, Slatefur walked over to Rippletail, murmuring into the white tom’s ear—but not so softly that Cloverfoot couldn’t hear the words. “She hasn’t been herself lately. Tigerstar… made some decisions that not everyone in the Clan agreed with. I think it’s taken a toll on her.”

Her brother’s tail lashed despondently. “So she came to me, for… support? Familiarity?” His gaze darkened again. “I wish I’d known. I could have been more comforting to her, instead of hiding in my own shame.”

Frondpaw tipped her head to the side, eyes round with thought. “That doesn’t seem right. When Cloverfoot left the camp, it was like something had terrified her. I don’t think she was running _to_ Rippletail. She was running _away_ , and this was the first place she thought to come.”

All three sets of eyes turned back to where Cloverfoot lay on the ground, and she shuddered, searching frantically for something to say in response. _Is Frondpaw right? Was I just trying to hide from my own problems, the way that Rippletail did?_

Casting her gaze around in search of reassurance, she found herself returning to Frondpaw’s confident expression, so remarkably different from how she normally looked. Her younger sister’s face was set with self-assurance, but there was no hint of arrogance there—instead, her eyes were brimming with hope. _She knows we’re better than what she’s seen here today_ , Cloverfoot understood. _She doesn’t think that she has all the answers—but she knows that together,_ we _do._ It was the same proud strength, she realized with a jolt, that other cats must have seen when they looked at her own face, back when she had led their small patrol in their time away from the Clans. It was the kind of courage that one looked for in a deputy, or a Clan leader.

The cry leapt out of her throat unbidden. “He asked me to be deputy!”

Slatefur’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Tigerstar,” she breathed, her mew straining. “Just before I came here. He called me into his den, and he… he said I was the right choice for the Clan.”

“But that’s wonderful!” Slatefur exclaimed, his gaze shimmering proudly. “You’d be a great—”

“No!” she hissed, her pelt bristling. “No, I wouldn’t! You don’t understand!”

There was a pause, and then Rippletail sat down beside her, his long fur brushing against her side. “We understand _you_ , Cloverfoot. What is it that we’re missing?”

 _You found a way to help your Clan even though you disagreed with the path it was taking._ Tigerstar’s deep mew floated through her thoughts, and she flashed back to the meeting beneath the Pinebranch, when he had announced the beginning of their attacks on SkyClan territory. His tabby pelt loomed large in her vision, amber eyes glistening malevolently.

“He thinks that I’m strong,” Cloverfoot tried to explain, knowing with dread that what she was describing wouldn’t sound like a problem to the others. Her stomach twisted itself into knots. “He thinks I can succeed where Juniperclaw failed.”

“But you _are_ strong,” Slatefur said, confusion seeping into his verdant gaze. “Everyone in the Clan knows that.” Sympathy hummed through his voice, but not understanding.

“If I were as strong as I needed to be, none of this would have happened!” _How can I make them understand?_ “He’s expecting me to keep him in check! He thinks that I can—that I can tell him when his decisions are wrong, that I can stop the Clan from making mistakes before we make them!” Panic flared through her mew.

“Is there a reason you can’t?” Frondpaw padded forward, pelt pricking with curiosity. “Why do you think you won’t be able to do that?”

Cloverfoot raised her muzzle, locking her gaze straight at her younger sister’s eyes. “Because I _didn’t!_ ” The vision of the Clan meeting vanished, and the smell of rainwater filled her nose as another replaced it. The tom who stood in front of her had his muzzle open in a derisive snarl, his tail lashing as he rebuked her. _You’ve carved your own path since before you were apprenticed. What made you stop now?_

“I could have tried to change Tigerstar’s mind at any point in the last half-moon,” she mewed, feeling Scorchfur’s words crawling out of her own throat. “I could have told him that there were better ways for ShadowClan to defend its rights without stealing another Clan’s prey. And I did nothing. I spent every moment I could helping Puddleshine, just so that I didn’t have to confront the possibility of going on a raid myself.” She ripped out a chunk of grass with a forepaw. “I was a _coward_ just like—”

Horrified, she clamped her muzzle shut, already knowing that every cat present knew precisely what she hadn’t said. She turned back towards Rippletail frantically, shame thick over her pelt like the rain of the last several days. “I—I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t mean—”

There was nothing but concern in the former warrior’s eyes. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t.” His voice betrayed no sign of anger, and he blinked at her kindly. “Tigerheart asked me to help lead the Clan, too. _That_ was why I ran away, not because of Heronwing.”

It had slipped Cloverfoot’s mind that her littermate had hinted at another reason for his departure. She stared with unmasked surprise as Rippletail continued. “It was too much pressure for me to handle. But you’re not like me.”

“You’re _not_ a coward,” she insisted, guilt flickering in her chest.

“No, I’m not.” His voice was steady. “I’m a cat who found a place where he belonged.”

Slatefur’s tail swished through the grass. “And _you_ belong as a leader, Cloverfoot. You always have.”

Her mew still came out strained. “I know you believe that, and I know _Tigerstar_ believes that. But the cat who led that patrol isn’t the cat who spent a quarter-moon avoiding the first real crisis of Tigerstar’s leadership!”

“So what changed?”

Cloverfoot gazed helplessly across the garden, Frondpaw’s question echoing the one that had played over and over in her mind since the day she had taken Scorchfur to gather herbs. _What made you stop now?_

Slowly, she opened her mouth, looking from each of the three cats gathered around her to the next.

“When I led our patrol,” she said, letting the words come little by little, “I pushed for us to return to the lake because I knew it was time for us to rebuild our Clan. I was _sure_ that we could finally repair the damage Darktail did. I could feel it in my bones—you all could! You know what I’m talking about!”

Slatefur’s gaze pulsed with strength, and he nodded. “I do. When we were there, at the Moonpool, and I called out…”

“Exactly.” She remembered his words as clearly as ever. _Fox dung to all that!_ “That was the conviction we all felt. This would be the start of a stronger Clan, a _better_ Clan. Nothing was going to stand in the way of that.” Growling, she rose to her paws. “But that was the _same_ conviction I felt when I left ShadowClan to join the Kin, with Berryheart and Beenose. Nothing was going to stop us.”

Rippletail opened his mouth to interject, but she kept going. “Don’t you see? I thought I knew what I was doing when we betrayed Rowanstar! And I thought I knew what I was doing when we returned to the lake! First I was certain that we were joining a better group than ShadowClan, and then I was certain that ShadowClan’s days of aggression were over.” Her pelt felt like it was burning as the explanation kept coming, faster than she could speak. “But _none_ of that turned out the way it was supposed to! Our mistakes got countless cats killed—and now Tigerstar has tried to drive out another Clan, just as we did to RiverClan before! What kind of deputy—” The fire left her stomach, and she dropped her mew to a whisper. “What kind of deputy makes the wrong choice _every_ time?”

Silence enveloped the garden. Distraught, Cloverfoot sat back on her haunches, desperately waiting for one of the others to say something. Her fur itched with guilt.

Slatefur opened his jaws first. “So that’s why you stopped fighting during the last half-moon. You felt like you couldn’t trust your Clan anymore.”

“I couldn’t trust my own decisions!” she gasped, the admission opening up a wound within her. “How can I help Tigerstar lead the Clan when I’ve done nothing but make mistakes?”

Panic overflowed from within, and she knew she couldn’t continue to argue with them for a moment longer. Pelt bristling, she ignored Slatefur’s shocked exclamation as she pushed past him and began to race for the fence. _This has gone on long enough. I have my answer._ Her hind paws tore up small wads of grass as she ran, the cacophony in her head resolving itself into one solution. _I’m going to tell Tigerstar that he chose wrong. Some other cat will have to be deputy, one who hasn’t betrayed their Clan._

Front legs outstretched, she crouched in front of the fence, springing up towards it in a great leap. Her vision had blurred over, not from exhaustion, but from the mental strain of her decision.

With a roar, a blaze of fur crashed into her from the side, knocking her away from the fence and sending her rolling across the grass. Dizzy, she stared up from a bed of flowers as the shape resolved itself into Rippletail, his expression twisted with anger.

“Y-You’re not a warrior anymore,” Cloverfoot wheezed, eyes fixed on his collar. His charge had knocked the breath out of her. “You’ve been a soft kittypet for moons. How did you…?”

“I’m still enough of a warrior—and enough your _brother_ —to know when you’ve got bees in your brain.” His mew was stern. “You’ve made mistakes. So has _every_ cat. Maybe Tigerstar knows that, and maybe he doesn’t. But _you_ should be smart enough to understand it.” His blue gaze softened, like the surface of the lake on a cool newleaf morning. “You were always far smarter than me, anyway.”

She struggled to get up, barely managing to rise to all four paws. “I’ve… made… too _many_ mistakes,” she snarled. _Why can’t he see that?_

He took a step closer to her, white fur fluffing out. “That’s not why you can’t lead, Cloverfoot. It’s why you _can_. Because you know the mistakes that you—and ShadowClan—have made in the past, and how to avoid them.”

“Just like Juniperclaw?” she pleaded. “He knew the mistakes we made before, too, and he repeated all of them in less than a moon.”

Slatefur padded forward to stand beside his former Clanmate. His shoulders were set with determination, and his deep green gaze seemed to fix her to the spot. “You’re nothing like Juniperclaw. He was selfish. His faults controlled him. You _know_ what your flaws are, and you strive to overcome them.”

Cloverfoot wavered, the empty space inside of her seeming to fill just a little. “And… when I don’t succeed? _Again?_ ” Her paws shook, and she stared at the ground. “What happens when I tell my Clanmates to do something that goes against the warrior code, because I think that I know better? Or when Tigerstar makes another immoral decision, and I just can’t find it inside myself to tell him he’s wrong?”

“Then you fail,” he said smoothly. “Again. But the very fact that you know that could happen makes you wiser than any other cat Tigerstar could choose. It doesn’t matter that you might fail…”

“It only matters that I try,” she whispered. The earth seemed to quake, and she closed her eyes. The idea was so close she could almost reach out and touch it. It was enticing. _I could be deputy._ Somewhere within her, a wellspring of strength seemed to reopen, beckoning to her with promises of a renewed hope in the future of ShadowClan.

One last doubt fought its way out through her mouth, and shivers ran down her pelt as she spoke. “What if I lose faith in myself again?”

“That’s easy.” The voice wasn’t Slatefur’s. Cloverfoot jerked up her muzzle to see Frondpaw step into the space next to her mentor. The apprentice’s eyes held no trace of her usual timidity, and she seemed to grow as large as the two toms beside her when she spoke. “We’ll be there for you. Always.”

The walls inside of her broke, and before she knew it, Cloverfoot was diving forward towards the other three cats, weaving around them in a blur of gray and white pelts. She breathed in each of their scents deeply, their purrs making her glow with courage inside.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling the warmth of each of their flanks pressed against her. “I owe you all so much.”

Frondpaw rubbed her muzzle into Cloverfoot’s cheek. “Don’t be silly. You’re my kin.”

“And you’re the strongest cat I’ve ever known,” Slatefur added, brushing her back with his tail. “It’s only natural that you’d have the farthest to fall when your strength leaves you.”

She drew back, finding firm footing on the soft grass. “Thank you.” Resolution surged through her mew. “I’m not perfect. But I will always try to do better.”

Rippletail leaned in to give her forehead one last lick. “That’s all anyone can ask of you.”

**Chapter 10**

The sun still peeked out above the horizon as they trekked back, but only just barely. By now, Slatefur knew, some cat was bound to have noticed their absence. With night fast approaching, Tigerstar would be anxious to leave for the Gathering. _Hopefully he doesn’t ask too many questions._ Though their Clan leader was already aware of Rippletail’s kittypet status, it would only cause trouble if he learned that two of his warriors and one apprentice knew exactly where the white tom lived.

It had been even harder to make their way through the Twolegplace’s twisting mess of Thunderpaths with three cats than it had been for each of them to travel individually. Dogs noticed their scent more easily, and they couldn’t afford to take as many chances when crossing in front of monsters. But it helped that they’d each had some recollection of the route they’d taken from ShadowClan territory to the Twoleg den, and together were able to retrace their pawsteps until they reached the forest’s edge.

Rippletail’s instructions had helped as well. The former warrior hadn’t known where, exactly, the Clan territories were in relation to his den, but he had accompanied the three ShadowClan cats until they exited the Twolegplace, carefully guiding them away from dens occupied by dangerous dogs or unfriendly kittypets.

As his paws padded steadily over soft earth, finally away from the hard, unforgiving surfaces of the Twolegplace, Slatefur revisited their parting in his mind. “We’ll always miss you, Rippletail,” he’d told the white tom. “But I think we all understand now that you’ve found a place you can be happy.” Then surprise had jolted through his pelt as a thought occurred to him, one he couldn’t believe hadn’t crossed his mind earlier. “That is, if Rippletail is even still your name. Do… do you have a kittypet name now?”

His friend had blinked happily, no hint of disappointment in his mew. “My housefolk call me Buster,” he said, dipping his head. “I _am_ Buster now. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still Rippletail, too. And to you, I’ll always be Rippletail.”

Cloverfoot had waved her tail. Sorrow shimmered in her eyes, but her voice was confident. “Goodbye, Rippletail. I’ll tell our parents you’re happy.”

“I am,” he’d meowed. “And you’re all welcome to visit me any time.”

The last few red roofs of the Twolegplace faded out of view as they climbed a small hill. Around them, the foliage of the forest had been growing steadily thicker as they moved farther and farther from the Twoleg dens, and from a little way off Slatefur could smell the distinct and comforting tang of pines. _We’re almost home._

Beside him, Cloverfoot’s tabby pelt rippled with purpose as she walked. A spark Slatefur hadn’t seen in many days had reignited in her eyes, and each step she took seemed to resonate across the ground. _She’s back_ , he thought, joy making his tail swish whimsically through the air.

Then he noticed that Frondpaw had fallen behind. Looking back, he saw his apprentice’s walk slowing down. Her ears were pricked with alertness, but the energy that had somehow infused her words and actions back in the garden was gone.

Nodding at Cloverfoot, he jerked his muzzle back in Frondpaw’s direction. She twitched an ear in understanding, and he slowed his pace. Soon enough he had drawn level with the young tabby. They took a few more steps, side-by-side, before he spoke up cautiously.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

She shrugged, her soft gray fur relaxed. “I think so. I’ve just… never done anything like that before.”

“Like what?” He had a good guess as to what his apprentice meant, but wanted to hear her say it.

She turned to gaze at him, blue eyes full of wonder. “I disobeyed orders… I left the camp by myself… I traveled outside Clan territory for the first time!” Her mew was almost disbelieving, as if she was describing something that had happened to another cat. “And… I think I helped all of you! There were moments where it felt like—like the things I said were what kept everybody calm, or moved things towards a good resolution.”

Slatefur nodded, resisting the urge to yowl with happiness. “You helped a lot. There _were_ times where you knew what to say when none of the rest of us did, because you didn’t have the same personal grievances and history we did. You could take a step back from our problems and see the situation as it was in the moment.” He touched her shoulder lightly with his tail-tip. “And do you know why you were able to do those things?”

Confusion clouded her mew. “I-I don’t think so. Right now it seems like a dream. I know I’m not usually so… forthright.”

A stick cracked underneath his paws. They were nearly at the ShadowClan border. “Because this time, you weren’t thinking about your hunting skills or the last battle move you learned. You weren’t worrying about getting something wrong. You knew that your Clanmates needed help, and you didn’t hesitate to lend your support.” Slatefur drew his tail down the gray she-cat’s spine, lightly stroking her back. “I think you gained confidence from the seriousness of the situation. When you’re confronted with something that truly matters, you stop judging yourself, and you do what you know is right.” His voice shook with pride. “You make me proud to be your mentor.”

After a pause, Frondpaw brushed up against his flank. “When I know what the right thing to do is, I can’t help but do it. That… makes me like Cloverfoot, doesn’t it?”

Slatefur stepped proudly across the border onto ShadowClan territory, bathing in the thick scent of pinesap all around him, his apprentice at his side. “Yes. Just like Cloverfoot.”

They made it through the thorn tunnel just as the sun vanished. From all around the camp, ShadowClan and SkyClan cats turned to stare as the three of them marched quickly across the clearing to the leader’s den. But no one moved to stop them, and from one side Slatefur could see Tawnypelt giving them a brief nod of approval. _She knows_ , he felt sure. _She knows why we were away, and why we’re back now._

Puddleshine poked out of the medicine den, his pelt glossy. Looking at him now, no cat would have guessed what he’d been through. Slatefur blinked warmly at his brother. _I’ll tell him what happened later._

They reached the small bramble thicket. Inside, Tigerstar was waiting. _The future is waiting._ He turned to Cloverfoot, searching her expression for any sign of doubt. He found plenty… and then he relaxed. _She’ll always have doubts. We all will. And that’s okay._ He pressed his muzzle to hers, trying to think of the right words. None came to mind, and after a moment he drew back. She blinked, and he knew she understood.

His sleek gray pelt warm with contentment, Slatefur settled back onto his haunches, as beside him Frondpaw did the same. Together, they waited as Cloverfoot entered the den. Her mew, strong and resonant, floated out into the clearing. “I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> It all ends.
> 
> It's been 15 months since I first got the idea to write a short story about why one particular ShadowClan cat was missing from Darkest Night. I couldn't have anticipated how attached I would become to these characters, or how much finishing their story would mean to me.
> 
> It was a challenge to write this last story, more than the first two, because for the first time it wasn't about Slatefur. He's still there, for sure, and obviously had a big role to play. But it's not his story anymore. It's Cloverfoot's, and that was new to me. I knew who she was—strong, confident, a natural leader. But I didn't know what went on inside her head. With Rippletail, I knew how to play him and Slatefur against each other. With Cloverfoot I had to let her carry the story herself, and place Slatefur in more of a secondary role. I had to sit down and figure out why she did the things she did in The Raging Storm, I had to determine what may have happened to her when she wasn't on-page, and ultimately I had to ask myself the same question she does—why would Tigerstar make a cat deputy for gathering herbs? After all, that's all she does in the canon book.
> 
> I'm happy with how this turned out. Do I plan to write more ShadowClan stories, perhaps set during The Broken Code? I don't know. Frondpaw—she'll be Frondwhisker by then—does appeal to me, as a future protagonist. But I don't have anything else in mind for ShadowClan at the moment. Slatefur and Rippletail and Cloverfoot's time has ended. They've each gotten their happy ending, and for now I'm content to let that stay.
> 
> Thank you all for following this through to the end. It means so much to me. Comments greatly appreciated. :)


End file.
